FROM   THE   LIBRARY   OF 
REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.   D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED    BY    HIM    TO 

THE    LIBRARY   OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


Ditffdott       ^OC 
Sectlom         7f^y^ 


(^ 


SEP  18  1933 


Catena  Dominica. 


BY 


JOHN    HENRY    ALEXANDER. 


$f)ilal)ielpf)ta: 

HERMAN    HOOKER, 
Corner  of  Chestnut  and  Eighth  Streets. 

1855. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1855,  by 

HERMAN    HOOKER, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  in  and 
for  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsvlvania.  '^ 


pniLAnELPniA  : 

TRlNTEia     BY     XINO     AND     BAIKO, 
8ANS0M     STREET 


TO 


ALL     KIND    READERS. 

One  evening,  as  the  mellow  sun-light  slej^t 
Upon  the  sward  and  dyed  it  green  and  gold, 
While  overhead  the  leaves  a  murmvr  kept 
And  whispered  what  the  oriole  had  told 
His  mate,  or  what  the  thrnsh  or  hlue-lnrd  hold 
Had  carolled  to  them,  in  the  early  day, 
Of  the  far-distant  ether,  clear  and  cold, — 
Beside  an  ancient,  haunted  Elm  I  lay, 

With  roving  thoughts  unsteady  as  yon  quivering  spray. 

1 


CATENA     DOMINICA. 

Before  me  floated,  then,  amonrf  tlie  rest, 
The  shattered  army  of  my  youthful  Dreams  ; 
Slwm  of  the  pomp  that  ichilome  did  invest 
Their  first  Aurora-march  with  conquering  gleams: 
Ah  me!  how  many  a.  gallant  Hope  now  seems 
Hie  pallid  ghost  of  what  it  nsed  to  he  — 
How  iminy  sunk  in  Acherontian  streams, 
Never  to  rise  —  how  many  ashichl  I  see 
No  more,  that  dazzled  erst  icith  gorgeous  Uazonry  ! 

Then  came  the  pictures  Uurred  and  canvass  torn 
Of  deeds  (inine  own  and  others')  that  present 
True  scenes  of  what  my  real  Life  has  borne : 

—  A  sombre  sheio  of  learning,  strength,  mispent, 

—  A  gloomy  train  of  shadows  rearward  bent. 
Beneath  the  slant  rays  of  a  sinking  sun, 

—  Afiuicrcd  march  of  figures  trcmulcnt. 
Whose  step  no  other  mvsic  hu7'rics  on. 

Tluin  the  dull  hcart-hrafs  ^nrath  the  hauntrd  Kim,  alom 


C  A  T  E  N  A     T)  0  M  I  \  T  C  A  .  Ill 

Wearied  with  such  sad  visions,  where  did  Uend 
A  thicartcd  Future  with  a  toasted  Past, 
Where  Hope  grew  heavy,  when  he  would  ascend, 
With  such  a  load  of  Memories  round  him  cast, — 
I  longed  and  prayed  for  something  bright,  at  last 
My  thoughts  might  turn  to —  something  that  might  he 
Uhmonotonc,  yet  anchored  ever  fast 
To  Truth  —  the  sparkling  of  an  Ocean  free. 
The  same,  yet  ahrays  new  in  its  immensity. 

While  thus  I  longed,  as  if  in  answer  there 
(^For  hearty,  healthy  strivings,  fit  success  /) 
Tlie  radiant  image  of  the  Church^  Year 
( Timt  roUs  along  with  years  we  treasure  less,) 
Up-rose  in  long-known,  long-prized  comeliness. 
Linked  strangely  with  scenes  that  suggested  it; 
Ever  the  same,  yet  varying  with  the  press 
Of  Joy  or  Grief  with  hues  fast-changing  lit. 
Revolves  that  Year  for  all  in  time  and  measure  fit  f 


W  C  A  T  E  X  A     D  0  M  I  N  I  C  A  . 

But  cliicfly,  mid  the  lines  of  liglu  which  shotc 
Its  cowrse,  I  dwelt  upo7i  tlmt  Sunday-chain 
Of  golden  Truth  and  Love,  let  down  hclow,  — 
Of  gracious  promises  and  warnings  plain: 
Less  marked,  it  may  he,  than  the  other  train 
Of  Saintly  feasts  and  week-time  Holy -day  s  : 
Yet,  in  its  order,  bringing  hack  again 
More  of  the  lustre  of  the  Saviour's  ways. 
Tlicd  all  o'er  Bethleliem  and  Joseph's  scahd  Tnmh  j,/,n/.- 

Bathed  in  this  lustre,  then  awhile  gi'ew  dim 
The  actual  scene  that  close  around  mc  lay ;  — 
Unheard,  the  mocking -hird' s  wild,  varied  hymn 
Thatftfid  swelled  and  sank,  nou''  grave,  now  gay  ; 
Unmarked,  the  graces  of  the  frrmvhus  apray. 
Or  melting  colors,  Ucnding  earth  and  sky ; 
—  I  only  heeded  the  sweet,  linked  disjjhiy 
Of  thai  so  hunino'us  Chain  which  scem/d  to  lie 
0\'r-arching,  in  its  sjnni,  fhr  a::ure  canopy. 


CATENA     I>  0  M  I  N  I  C  A  . 

And,  as  I ya::cd,  I  could  hut  nuirJc  tJcc  gleam 
Tlud  self-s\Lpporting,  lUce  a  diamond's,  shone 
From  each  particular  link  and  made  it  seeing 
Itself,  the  Jcvoel  of  the  Chain,  alone; 
TiU,  looking  at  tlie  next,  I  needs  must  own 
My  choice  distiwled  and,  in  the  new-lit  hlaze, 
Found  brighter  hues  or  tints  more  tender  grown, 
As  caught  from  separate  epochs  in  Christ's  ivays. 
His  Cradle  or  His  Cross — sad  or  triumphant  days. 

AU  these  I  saw  ;  —  the  warning  Advent-dawn, 
The  Pasclml-noon  with  its  angelic  lyres, 
And  then,  (a  week,  between,  of  Sundays  drawn) 
The  ovening-glow  of  Pentecostal  fires  ;  — 
AU  these  I  felt,  as  clearest  sight  inspires 
A  feeling  ;  so  that,  still  ivhile  sun-light  clung, 
Ere  TwiligJit  came  to  icatch  when  Day  retires, 
Unconscious  syllables,  together  flung, 
Begun  to  tdl  of  pictures   'ncath  the  Elm-tree  hung! 


Jfirst  f  uuhrg  in  ^bbenf. 


ONCE  AND    ONCE  MORE. 


Lord  I   who  as  at  this  time  condescended 

To  visit  Earth  in  great  humility; 
From  all  works  by  which  Thou  art  offended, 

Our  hearts  and  homes,  0 !  help  Thou  us  to  free ; 
That  both  fit  may  prove 
To  entertain  Thy  love 
And,  not  guest-wise  only,  welcome  Thee ! 

For  this  holy  tide  have  we  been  yearning, 

(Fit  season  to  begin  our  mystic  Year) 
Haply  from  all  'round  the  lesson  learning, 
By  our  true  inner  Life  to  draw  more  near; 
Keeping  quick  and  warm 
Thine  own  implanted  germ, 
Mid  the  winter  of  our  world-storms  hen- 


Firaf   iSunchiy  in   Advent. 

Blest,  if  in  our  heart  of  hearts  we  store  them  — 

The  teaching  and  the  thing  —  that  both  may  grow 
Deeper,  stronger,  for  the  pressure  o'er  them ; 
Till  in  our  measure  we  may  come  to  know 
How  ail-graciously 
Was  planned  that  Mystery, 
In  one  phase  of  wliich  Tliou  cam'st  below. 

Waiting  long,  the  world  had  looked  out  for  Tliee ; 

Not  wholly  left,  meanwhile,  uncomforted : 
Ever  and  anon,  a  Vision  bore  Thee 
In  fitting  glory  by  some  prophet's  bed ; 
Bringing  music  there 
So  sweet,  that  its  faint  air 
Now  cv'n,  in  Thy  Church,  fresh  life  doth  shed  ! 


Then  there  came  a  darker  tinio  and  dreary, 

When  Faith  went  unrefreshed  by  wonted  f?igii ; 
Wlien  of  Man's  provoking  God  seemed  weary 
And  suffered  pride  or  worse  to  soil  His  shrine ; 
Till  some  Maccabee 
Rose,  now  and  then,  tf>  free 
Those  wlio  meekly  bore  all  j'okes  but  Tliiiie; 


Once  and  Once  More. 

Till  at  last  arrived  the  moment  gracious, 

That  should  the  long-expected  Presence  bring ; 
Seraphs  hymned  it,  through  the  empyrean  spacious, 
Archangels  message-bearing  stooped  the  wing, 
And  the  midnight  skies 
Glowed  on  the  Shepherds'  eyes  — 
Sign  of  Apostolic  heralding ! 

Ever  since,  in  calmer  light  and  clearer, 

(Though  all  Thy  types  are  not  as  yet  made  plain,) 

Each  return  of  this  day  but  brings  nearer 

Thy  second  coming  to  the  Earth  again : 

Ere  its  sun  goes  down, 

Many  a  soul  shall  own 

Angel-calls  to  rise  and  join  Thy  train. 

Still,  those  calls  so  soft,  like  dew-drops  gentle, 
Man  hardly  heeds  in  this  world's  utter  din ; 
Or,  for  purpose  high.  Thou  spread'st  a  mantle 
To  dull  the  echoes  waking  else  within ; 
Making  out  of  this, 
A  future  higher  bliss 
For  the  patient,  watchful  heart  to  win  I 


First   Siuuluy   in   Adcoit. 

Jiut  for  such  as  will  not  beud  nor  waken. 
Another  warning  yet  remains  in  store : 
8oou  the  Earth,  rocked  terribly  and  shaken, 
Preserves  no  covered  place  she  had  before ; 
Soon,  the  friendly  Night 
Burns  with  inteusest  light, 
Giving  hope  to  hide  from  Thee  no  more. 

And  if  erst  types,  hard  and  dim,  obscurely 

Foreshadowed  Thine  approach  in  human  guise ; 
And  Thy  tokens  silent,  hushed,  (tliough  surely) 
Marked  but  a  crisis  in  our  inner  ties ; 
Soon,  all  outward  Sign 
And  ^lajesty  Divine 
AYill  attend  our  world's  last  Mysteries ! 


Saviouk  !    keep  us,  in  that  hour  of  terror. 

Safe  underneath  the  Cross,  man  raised  for  Thee 
And  that  we  may  know  it  well,  O I  nearer 
Make  us,  each  day  like  this,  its  features  see : 
So,  hard-won  at  last, 
We,  though  all  trembling,  fast- 
Clinging  to  its  gracious  foot  may  be  I 


Stccnb  S^iiubag  in  |.bhiit. 


THE  GLEANING  OF  THE  GRAPES. 


"  Why,  when  I  looked  for  blushing,  wine-fed  grapes, 
Are  there  but  thorns?" — so  once  Thy  prophet  sung; 

So  might  he  now  reprove  the  wayward  shapes 
Of  thanklessness,  of  sin  in  heart  and  tongue. 
Half-hid  beneath  that  veil  o'er  priest  and  people  flung. 

So,  all  the  woes  his  mournful  voice  proclaimed. 
May  o'er  the  Earth  awaken  righteously ;  — 

The  faded  flowers  —  the  shadeless  heat,  untamed 
By  slightest  clouds  —  the  long-lost  melody  — 
The  storm  and  yawning  graves  o'er  darken'd  laud  and  sea ! 

Therefore,  0  !  Guardian  of  the  lonely  Vine, 

(Thine  own  loved  Church,)  we  flee  to  Thee  for  aid ; 

Help  ua  to  see  Thy  promised  day-spring  shine 
Upon  the  covert  which  Thyself  hast  made, 
By  whose  green  leaves  alone.  Thine  outstretched  arm  i^  staid. 


6  Secoml  Snmhti/  in  Advent. 

We  see  Thy  signs  iu  the  decaying  year 

And  coming  winter  wild ;  before  whose  brcatli, 

The  tender  fig-tree  casts  its  leafets  sere, 
The  shaken  olive  bows  itself  to  death, 
And  clouded  Heavens  look  dark  upon  the  Earth  beneath 

'Tis  Thine  own  vengeance,  0 !  thou  Lord  of  Hosts, 

Against  the  earth  defiled,  awakening ; 
Crushing  the  haughty  looks,  the  thoughtless  boasts 
Of  those  pale  prisoners  whom  Thou  wilt  bring 
Into  Thy  pit  and  snare  to  wait  Thy  visiting. 

For  all  these  signs,  Thy  virgm-spouse,  the  Church, 

Would,  like  the  Virgin-mother,  nearer  cling 
To  Thee  and,  in  Thy  word  of  promise,  search, 
Read,  mark  and  learn,  what  she  may  gladly  sing 
When  faded  Winter  melts  in  her  sui-e-coming  Spring ! 


$L|)irii  Suiibiig  in  ^bbciit. 


iiURE  AND  NIGH. 


Not  by  the  flowers  that  gently  sank 
So  lately,  in  the  parched  glen ; 

Not  by  the  purple  fruits  that  drank 
The  autumn-dews,  to  ripen  then ; 

Not  by  each  swiftly  closing  year ; 

Count  we  until  our  Lord  be  here : 


Nor  by  tlie  tokens  that  impart 

An  impulse  to  the  coming  end ; 
The  miracles  of  modern  art 

That  blind  men,  eyes  —  lame,  strong  feet  lend; 
Like  what  th'  expectant  Baptist  knew 
As  pledges  of  an  Advent  true : 


Nor  even  by  less  earthly  signs ; 

The  vintage  of  souls  far  away, 
7 


Third  Sumhiij  in  Advent. 

The  gleaming  of  their  length'iiing  lines 
Who  come  to  own  the  Gospel's  sway; 
Till  Christian  Cross  and  symbols  shine 
O'er  Mahound's  crescent,  Vishnu's  shrine : 

Not  by  all  these  or  more ;  for  still 

Our  dear-bought  hearts  at  home  arc  cold ; 

And  even  now,  our  half-taught  will 
Would  wander  forth,  if  it  were  told 

Of  reeds  that  syllable  the  wind ; 

Some  fresher,  saving  grace  to  find. 

And  now  ev'n  those  that  claim  and  wear 
A  royal  Priesthood's  priceless  pall, 

Would  to  the  desert  rude  repair, 
For  Fancy^s  song,  or  Honor's  call; 

Where  raiment  soft  or  hairy  skin, 

Alike,  their  gaze  admiring  win. 

These  find  Thee  not,  though  long  ago 
Their  childhood's  tiny  step  went  forth 

At  the  stern  Voice  and  Baptist- vow :  — 
Ala.s,  for  tlioir  devotion's  worth! 


6'«rt'  (ind  Nigh. 

Still  shews  the  prison  of  each  heart 
The  damsel's  often-pencilled  part. 

Yet  these  must  find  Thee,  or  in  love 
Or  wi'ath,  before  Thine  Advent  come; 

And  soon  each  lingering  one  must  prove 
The  axe  laid  to  his  very  home. 

If  line  and  precept  fail  to  win, 

'Tis  time  a  sharper  way  begin. 

Time,  thine,  not  ours;  Who  found  it  fit 
To  vail  Thine  elder  message  long 

And  made  Thy  prophets  utter  it 

With  stammering  lips  and  other  tongue 

In  mercy,  thus,  to  seek  and  try 

The  readiest  for  Thy  mystery ! 

He  that  believes  will  not  make  haste ; 

Content  Thy  season  best  to  wait, 
He  questions  not  the  desert-waste 

If  CuRiST  be  there,  or  royal  state; 
But  for  his  Saviour,  (fitter  part  I) 
He  opes  and  searches  his  own  heart. 


10  Third  Snmhty  in  Adccnt. 

Not  long,  though  (may  be)  many  an  age, 
Its  unmillenial  stream  will  roll ; 

Not  long,  though  many  a  blotted  page 
Of  tears  and  woe,  yet  fill  the  scroll 

Of  this  world-life ;  ere  Thou  dost  show 

Thyself  to  all  the  living,  now. 

And,  if  not  in  the  majesty 
Unbearable  of  the  last  Day ; 

Or  if  not  in  the  mystery 

Of  Heavenly  love  to  those  that  pray ; 

'T  will  be  with  all  the  helpless  dread 

TJiat  wraps  the  sinner's  narrow  bed. 

So  sure,  so  nigh! — Make  ready,  then, 
The  hearts  your  Saviour  waits  to  fill 

Or  crush ;  that,  ere  the  flowers  again 
Spread  their  sweet  carpet  by  eacli  rill. 

As  fresh,  as  bright,  as  soft,  be  spread 

Our  Life-flowers  for  that  Saviour's  tread  ! 


imil^  §unb;nr  in  ^Hcirt 


THE  VISIBLE   TEACHERS. 


0 !    patient  wait,  and  on  Christ's  promise  stayed, 

Deem  not  the  time  delayed 
Ere  lie  comes ;  not,  as  once.  In  meek-borne  pain, 

But  now  to  judge  and  reign ; 
Overshadowing,  as  some  cool,  fount-giving  Rock, 
His  wandering,  weary  flock, 
While  toppling  crags  and  widening  chasms  scare 
And  crush  rebellious  ones  who  scorned  His  word  to  boar. 

His  time,  His  help,  in  hopeful  stillness  bide ; 

Nor  dream  of  other  Guide ; 
Build  no  fond  altar  up  to  human  skill 

Or  science  or  stern  will ; 
Looking  to  Egypt,  land  of  portents  vast 
And  mystic  learning  waste, 
As  erst  the  Chosen's  more  than  heathen  Nicht 
Spread  her  dim  arms  abroad  to  lean  on  Pharaoh's  mijrlit. 


12  FouiiJi   Snnddi/  i7)  Adcent. 

But  if,  more  blest,  thou  tread'st  a  Christian  shrino. 

Owning  the  Power  Divine 
That  haunts  it,  waiting  there  for  Advent-light 

To  dawn  upon  thy  sight  — 
Think  not  such  privilege  enough  may  l)e : 
Since  once  the  Pharisee 
Gazing  on  Abraham  with  filial  pride, 
Missed  the  Messiah's  self,  all  radiant  by  his  side. 

'Tis  true  that  no  proud  Hebrew  blood  sustains 

The  current  in  our  veins : 
But  ev'n  from  stones  God  raises,  at  Christ's  claim. 

Children  to  Abraham ; 
And,  in  our  stonier  hearts  and  hardened  path, 
He  looks  but  for  the  faith 
Of  the  Chaldee,  t'  avouch  us,  too,  the  heirs 
Of  that  high  blessedness  which  but  the  Faithful  sliaros. 

Lo !  early  signed  by  more  than  Baptist's  hand. 
Within  His  Church  we  stand ; 

"Whose  fretted  roof  and  pillared  aisles  around 
With  words  of  Life  resound 

From  teachers  now  no  more  removed  for  icai 
To  lonesome  cryjtts  and  drear 


The    Visible    Tvaclicrs.  13 

Or  darkling  corners  in  sonic  city  vast, 

Or  forests  whoso  ^aiint  trees  their  shadows  frightful  cast. 

Secure  and  calm,  our  eyes  our  Teachers  see ; 

And,  wheresoe'er  we  be, 
If  passion  tempts  us  from  the  right  to  stray, 

Or  to  the  left-hand  way 
Our  lingering  frailties  cause  us  to  decline  — 
A  warning  Voice  Divine, 
With  Gospel-burden  fraught,  is  near  to  woo 
And  whisper :  "  Here  Christ  trod ;  here  ye  must  follow  too." 

So  let  us  follow,  in  obedient  love. 

Where  we  shall  shortly  prove 
An  Advent  to  ourselves,  if  not  to  all ; 

Striving  meanwhile,  like  Paul, 
Christ  undivided  in  our  hearts  to  keep ; 
And  if  we  fall  asleep 
Ere  Christmas  wakes  with  angel-melodies, 
All  nearer  float  we  where  its  songs  of  sweet  peace  rise. 


J;irst  ^uiibiu)  after  Cljristmas. 


THE  CHRIST  IN  THE   TEMPLE, 


So  young  and  yet  so  wise  1 

So  tender  and  so  true  ! 
So  bold  to  handle  mysteries ! 
So  clear,  to  solve  them  too  I  — 
Thus  spake  the  Rabbin,  stern  and  cold, 
What  day  the  wondrous  Child  his  Father's  message  told  ! 

They  cowered  before  his  gaze, 

His  eyes  so  grave  and  bright ; 
Condemned  so  long  to  Evening-haze, 
They  saw  the  Evening-light 
That  failed,  alas !  for  them  to  show 
The  new  highway  wherein  the  humbl<>  snfoly  go. 

Forgot,  the  prophet-tone 

That  told  what  Majesty, 

Beyond  the  shrine  of  Solomon, 

In  that  new  House  sliould  l.c  : 
11 


TliC   Christ  in  the    Temple.  15 

The  Presence  from  themselves  they  reft, 
Unstriving  (Israel-like)  till  It  a  blessing  left. 

Therefore,  since  Man  so  willed, 
Woke  other  prescient  strains ; 
O'er  chords  that  gladness  might  have  filled, 
A  mournful  music  reigns. 
Echoed  in  that  sad  Mystery 
Where  Princes  of  this  world  their  Lord  would  crucify ! 

Do  we  from  such  dark  scene 

Withdraw  our  shuddering  gaze 
And  fondly  think,  if  we  had  been 
In  those  Incarnate  Days, 
We  should  our  privilege  have  prized 
And;  in  the  Temple-child,  Messiah  recognized?  — 

0,  woful  self-deceit! 

0,  more  than  Israel  blind ! 
Each  day,  beneath  our  very  feet. 
Such  gracious  aids  we  find 
As  not  the  seeing,  wondering  Jew 
Or  Prophet-king  of  old  or  Bard  inspired  e'er  knew  ! 


16  First   Sunday  after   Chridnms. 

So,  near  each  faithful  heart 
Here  in  liis  House  to  day, 
Christ  stands  (no  more  in  Childlike  part 
Except  its  loving  way) 
Questioning  every  doubt  and  fear 
And  wisely  answering  those  who  will  hut  bend  to  hear. 

Needs  but  the  wish  sincere, 

Him  by  our  side  to  bring : 
Unstopped  by  Him  the  heavy  ear, 
The  dumb  throat  taught  to  sing, 
While  flowers  of  Love  and  Peace  will  bless 
The  Desert  of  the  heart,  the  soul's  drear  wilderness  I 

O,  heavier  far  (believe) 

If  blind,  our  sin  and  woe 
Than  theirs  who  failed  once  to  receive 
The  Child  in  mortal  show ! 
Then  ope  each  bosom  to  enshrine, 
In  Faith's  devoutest  pomp,  the  Presence  all  Divine ! 


Suonb  ^m\U^  dUx  Cljristiiuts 


THE  EVERGREENS. 


Lo  mid  the  Evergreens  we  sit, 

—  Of  thy  fast  word,  an  emblem  fit  — 

Watching  Thy  purpose  high 
And  longing  for  each  fleeting  Year 
Some  promised  grace  to  bring,  more  dear 

Than  aught  that  is  gone  by. 

For  so  each  year  is  ushered  in 

By  springing  hopes  that  Heaven  would  win, 

The  same  green  leaves  of  Faith ; 
Yet  half  its  moons  are  hardly  past, 
Ere  dead  the  tree  and,  withered,  cast 

Its  leaves  around  our  path. 

Where  is  Thine  own  baptismal  vow, 
Thy  blessed  Font,  —  for  Thou  didst  bow, 

Once  in  Thy  meekness  there  ? 

IT 


18  Secoiul  Sandiiu  nj'ttr   Christmas. 

Alas !  the  waters  that  should  spriug 
lu  places  dry,  no  odor  fling 
Across  the  Desert-air. 

And  Thy  pure  way  is  dim  to  eyes 
Tiiat,  blinded  in  tlie  sacrifice 

Of  Earth's  idolatry, 
Wake  only  to  a  fitful  light, 
When  in  some  ordinances  bright 

Thy  Church  doth  worship  Thee  I 

Light  of  the  blind !  the  bruised  reed 
Thou  wilt  not  break,  —  the  struggling  seed 

0,  pluck  not  quite  away ; 
Long  years  have  seen  us  in  this  place, 
Languid  yet  longing  for  thy  grace,  — 

Thy  peaceful  sun -set  ray. 

Still,  like  tliose  leaves  that  hardly  cast 
Yon  golden  hue  ore  it  be  past 

And  all  is  sad  again, 
So,  scarce  catch  we  a  single  beam 
Where  blends  not  soon  a  lurid  gleam  — 

The  storm  cloud  and  the  rain. 


Tiic  Eccrgrccns.  19 

O,  wilt  Thou  hear  us,  Who  wcrt  bent 
Down  to  the  hallowed  element, 

Gathering  us  to  God, — 
Thou  who  wert  tempted  like  as  we, 
That  Thou  in  Heaven  mightst  pitying  see 

Our  wandering,  weary  road  ? 

Thou  who  hast  formed  the  circling  Year, 
The  Evergreens,  the  silent  tear 

Wept  here  continually, — 
Help  us  who  lately  sung  Thy  birth, 
To  worship,  that  each  year  on  earth 

May  bring  us  nearer  Thee ! 


J;irst  ^iuib;i]]  'din  (kpipljuin). 


TWILIGHT. 


'Tis  true,  God  sometimes  hides  His  ways, 
Seen  dim,  as  when  pale  starlight  plays 

AVith  dubious  lustre  round  uncertain  feet ; 
Now,  flung  back  in  some  crystal  gleam,  — 
Now,  quenched,  while  giant  shadows  seem 
To  move  in  outline  vast,  and  dusky  phantoms  meet. 

Such  was  the  light  that  twice  shone  clear 
Upon  the  Persian  Chief's  career, 

Gilding  his  name  with  strange,  prophetic  sheen ; 
And  such,  the  Eastern  Star  that  led 
The  Magi  to  the  young  Child's  bed, 
With  Chaldee  love  and  faith,  that  Israel's  should  have  been  ! 

Was  it  to  try  men,  that  no  light 

Betrayed  the  hurried  Egypt-flight? 

That  over  Nazareth,  no  j)lanct  hung  ? 

Or  that  weird  shapes  of  woe  and  Death, 

(Like  phantoms  on  the  star-lit  heath) 

Against  th'  age-stricken  King,  avenging  omens  flung  V 

20 


Twill  f/ht.  21 

Say  rather,  'twas  the  shroud  once  laid 
O'er  buried  crimes,  now  upward  swayed 

By  Memory,  that  scared  his  waking  dreams ; 
AVhile  clouds  of  incense  idol-caught 
(Not  richer,  what  the  Wise  men  brought) 
Swept  skyward  and  obscured  that  Star's  else  guiding  gleam. 

So  is  it  still,  though  Gospel-day 
Asserts  o'er  earlier  dawn  its  sway ; 

But  leaving  yet  our  duteous  memory 
To  wake  each  year  the  Gentile-call 
And  keep  the  gladsome  Festival 
(Gentiles  ourselves)  of  Christ's  Epiphany. 

Lo !  less  than  one  short  week  ago. 
Thus  came  He;  —  not  in  infant-show 

But  glorious  —  and  we  owned  Tlim,  Loud  alone  j 
And  now,  how  many  hearts  to-day 
Envy  the  Magi's  long,  dim  way  — 
How  many  sadly  miss  cold  Starlight,  even,  gone ! 

'Tis  true,  in  this  our  Christian  land 
Grim  idol-groves  no  longer  stand ; 

With  rciidy  skill,  swart  artizans  no  more 


22  First  Sunday  after  Epiphany. 

Reluctant  matter  quick  compel 
By  classic  forms  to  sink  or  swell 
And  grow  a  visible  God,  its  makers  may  adore : 

Yet  build  we,  each  his  inner  shrine. 
Deep  in  the  heart  where  Light  Divine 

Scarce  pierces  the  dark,  sinful  incense-cloud ; 
And  there  Love,  Gold,  Ambition,  Hate 
Are  worshipped  in  such  idol-state 
As  if  Christ  came  not,  or  yet  lay  in  dying  shroud ! 

Alas !  ev'n  when  devout  we  build 

A  shrine  for  Christ  Himself  and  yield 

To  llim  our  heart's  most  costly  treasures  there, 
There  comes  a  dread  Epiphany 
Of  God's  own  fire  our  work  to  try :  — 
IIow  shall  it  be  with  those  who  Christian  Idols  rear  Y 

Lord  !  Who  hast  said  tliat  not  in  vain 
Thou  call'st  souls  to  seek  Thee  —  make  plain 

'Neath  soft  star  or  fierce  fire  our  pathway  dim ; 
Letting  us  question  Thee  in  love 
Till,  as  erst,  in  Thy  Church  we  prove 
God  hides  Himself  from  none  but  tliose  who  hide  from  Him. 


Stconb  ^uniiiij)  after  (Bpipljitng 


I) A  Y-BREAKING 


Sek!  now  pnrplcd  with  coming  ligiit, 

Kow  gleam  the  distant  hills  I 
And  how  upon  their  anxious  sight, 
Who  dimly  watched  the  weary  night, 

The  golden  prospect  fills ! 

While,  buraing  still,  the  lonely  Star 

Showing  two  nights  the  way, 
Fast  by  the  Western  chambers  far, 
(God's  purpose  high,  unbid  to  mar) 
Casts  yet  a  lingering  ray. 

And  as  we  look,  near  yonder  grove 

By  Jordan's  hallowed  wave. 

Flies  down  from  Heaven  a  soft-plumed  Dovo, 

Pledging  Ilis  presence  and  His  love, 

Who  comes  to  seek  and  save : 
23 


24  Sccnml  Siinddij  (tftcr   Epiphdiiij. 

While  elements  averse  before, 

Change  natures  in  our  sight  — 
Type  of  that  mystic  rite  whose  power 
Can  light  up  hearts  and  hopes  that  wore 
Only  tlie  hue  of  Night. 

Awake  before  these  Morning  beams, 

Church  of  the  living  God! 
For  thee,  the  sword  no  longer  gleams, — 
Melted  away,  like  broken  dreams, 
The  oppressor  and  his  rod : 

And  cast  off  now  thy  weary  chain, 

0 !  Mother,  exiled  long : 
Lo !  yonder  is  thy  Home  again, 
Thy  vine-hills  clustering  o'er  the  pl.tin, 
Thine  old  remembered  song ! 

And  shining  foot-prints,  on  the  steep. 

Of  the  Peace-bringers,  glow ; 
Piercing  the  clouds  that  o'er  it  sleep 
And  parting,  as  of  old,  the  Deep, 
The  Kxiles'  way  to  show! 


irb  ^uiibiig  lifter  (!5j)ij)ijiur]j. 


THE    SIGNAL. 


Fishers  of  Souls !  arise, 

Called  now  to  early  toil ; 
With  humble  thoughts  and  peaceful  guise, 

Enter  the  Day's  turmoil : 
They,  soonest  for  the  morn  prepared, 
"Will  ever  earliest  taste  the  evening's  glad  reward ! 

Arise  I  —  already  light 

Gleams  from  the  vine-clad  sides 
Of  Carmel ;  and  on  Hermon's  height 

The  sun's  full  glance  abides ; 
Already  o'er  Tiberias'  sea 
The  prophet's  voice  hath  waked  thrice-darkened  Galilee. 

Then  waste  not  hours  at  home 

In  slumber  or  in  sport ; 

Lest,  in  the  Evening's  coming  gloom, 
25 


26  Third  Snndnij  after  Ej)iphani/. 

Ye  find  the  Day  too  short, 
And  see  by  the  last  lingering  ray 
Your  net  unmended  still,  or  empty  yet  of  prey. 

Wide  as  the  world  is  known, 

The  Empire  of  that  net ; 
Alike,  where  Lebanon  looks  down 

Upon  Gennesaret, 
As  there,  where  kindred  cedars  grow,  - 
AloLg  the  Andes'  steeps,  those  monarchs  crowned  with  snow ! 

Far,  far,  your  journies  lie : 

Oft  shall  the  sail,  first  spread 
Where  Eastern  odors  never  die, 

When  Day's  last  beam  is  sped, 
Still  breathe  along  some  Western  wave 
A  faintness  of  perfume  —  a  fragrance,  ^NForning  gave. 

And  if  it  docs  not  calm 

The  sea,  ye  need  not  fear ; 
Since  He,  whose  presence  is  all  ])alni, 

Unseen  may  wander  near: 
—  The  Guider  of  tlie  lonely  ark 
Uo,  He  will  stay  the  flood  and  save  tlie  roclinL'  bark! 


Th4i  Signal.  27 

And,  when  the  Sun-set  falls 

Upon  yon  placid  Lake, 
Obedient  to  your  Master's  calls, 

Your  latest  farewell  take : 
And  seek  the  quiet  shore  where  dwells 
That  goodly  fellowship  of  whom  the  olden  Scriptuic  tells. 

One  Voice  o'er  all  ye  hear, 

There  'neath  the  olive-shade : 
"Ho!  every  one  that  thirsts,  draw  near 

The  fount ;  the  price  is  paid  I" 
—  Saviour,  to  reach  that  Dwelling-place, 
Gladly  we  rise  and  leave  our  Home,  our  Friends,  our  Race ! 


'  There  had  been,  up  to  our  era,  three  captivities  for  GaUleej— bj  Ben- 
hudad,  by  Nebuchadnezzar,  and  by  the  Romans. 

'  The  Cedars  of  tlie  Andes,  which  grow  principally  near  "Valparaiso,  the 
Antipodes  of  Capernaum,  attain  an  extraordinary  size  like  those  which 
acquired  such  celebrity  on  Lebanon. 


jfoiirt|)  l^uiiiiai)  after  (tpipljann 


THE  REST  OF   THE  lilGllTEOLS. 


Like  the  last  beaiu  when  Day  is  done, 
Th-e  righteous  sinks  to  rest, 

So  soft,  so  calm,  so  all  unknown, 
Into  that  sombre  West ; 
That  they  who  watched  witli  earnest  eye 
To  see  its  latest  flash  go  by, 

Marked  not  the  place  not  time : 

While  those  who  heed  not  in  their  mirtli 
This  Hunnnons  to  the  darkening  Earth 

(A  Saint's  departing  chime) 

Gather  themselves  in  hearth  and  hall. 
Heedless  if  it  pass  by,  that  solemn  Funeral ! 

No  like  to  watch  that  bier  have  they, 
Or  mid  tlie  damp  vault  grope; 

Who,  proud  though  wearied  in  tlirir  way. 
Chase  yet  a  glimmering  Hope 
In  some  dim  Law  (on  mountains  high 
Half  vi'.kI   'nciilli  st:ir-llt  invsfcM'v, 


The  Rest  of  the  Righteous.  20 

Or  murmured  from  the  brook 

That  bears  primeval  fragments  still,) 
Of  mystic  "  Nature's"  potent  will, 
But  cast  no  upward  look 
To  that  eternal  starry  Home 
Whose  gate  the  Just  man  finds  fast  by  the  darkling  Tomb! 

Nor  do  they  come  who  barb  the  dart 
By  which  the  Soldier  fell ; 

—  Rejectors  of  that  blessed  part 
Our  Brother  bore  so  well : 

Who,  scared  by  dread  of  worldly  loss 
Or  lured  with  love  of  golden  dross. 

Their  Saviour  bid  away ; 

Or  e'en,  beneath  the  gracious  word 
By  kings  and  prophets  all  unheard, 

Their  Master  seek  to  slay: 

—  What  care  have  they  to  watch  the  Dead 
Who,  blinded  at  noon-day  see  not  the  wrath  o'er  head  ? 

Yet,  Brother,  bear  thee  boldly  still ; 

Thou  fightest  not  alone ; 
Since  Morning-call  awoke  thy  will 

God  marked  thee  for  His  own : 


30  Fourth   ShiuUiii  after  Ejyiphany. 

He  asks  thee  but  for  fearless  heart ; 

Thy  strength  of  arm  is  all  His  part,  — 
Thy  prowess  all  His  gift : 

His  ear,  unheavy,  always  hears,  — 

His  hand,  unshortened,  always  cheers 
Those  who  his  war-cry  left ; 
"When  angry  foes,  like  floods,  are  near. 
Thy  safest  place  is  'neath  God's  Spirit-banner  there  I 

'Twus  first  a  Star  that  met  thy  gaze, 
Across  Night's  coronet, 

That  gently  lit  thy  wearied  ways. 
By  thorns  and  foes  beset ; 
Then  Day-dawn  glittered  from  on  high, 
Till  all  along  the  Eastern  sky 

A  golden  flood  was  poured ; 

And  from  the  mountain-tops  there  came, 
—  All  now  unrolled.  Heaven's  oriflammo  — 

The  early  Signal-word : 

"  Arise,  the  Choscn's  way  prepare,  # 

In  heavenly  armor  clad,  your  Lord  Himself  is  near !" 

They  gathered  (Quickly  from  their  sleep, 
Kouscd  bv  tliat  lioavenly  call ; 


The  Rtsf  of  the  Righteous.  31 

Armed,  all  their  soldier-faith  to  keep, 
To  conquer,  or  to  fall : 
And  now,  the  Conflict  partly  done, 
They  miss  amid  the  laurels  won 

A  fellow-helm  to  crown ; 

Whose  wearer  softly  lies  at  rest 
— His  Leader's  star  upon  his  breast, 

His  knightly  vizor  down  ;  — 

Henceforth  he  tastes,  in  glad  release, 
The  tViiit  of  lips  kept  pure,  in  an  eternal  Peace  ! 


Jfiftlj  BmVa\)  afttr  6pip[)aujr. 


THE  TOUCH-BEARERS. 


PiVE  times,  the  swift-footed  AVceks 

Vanish  since  Curist's  Star  was  seen ; 
Not  to-day,  our  Mother  seeks 

To  fix  our  gaze  where  it  has  been 
But,  treasuring  what  the  Saviour  taught, 
Bids  us  reflect  in  turn  each  beam  we  caught ; 

That  so,  in  brightest  Gospel-day,    • 
Souls  (dazzled  else)  may  learn  from  us  the  way, 
And  the  drear  Heathen-night 
Of  hearts  untaught,  or  hard,  grow  radiant  with  our  light! 


Do  ye  ask  what  this  may  mean? 

—  How  earth-walking  souls  may  shed 
Heaven-like  brilliance  mid  a  scene 

Below  all  gloom,  and  clouds  overhead  ? 

—  How  pilgrims,  as  they  onward  press, 
32 


The    Torcfi-Jkanra.  33 

^\'^in  in  each  trace  they  leave,  new  blessedness?  — 

Best  answer  ye  may  learn  from  Him 
(Who  trod,  that  lie  might  prove,  the  pathway  dim) 
As  one  day,  lingering  there,  * 
He  sat  Him  down  and  told  us  who  those  Blessed  arc ! 

Say  not  thus,  that  all  too  high 

Their  state  will  our  reach  elude, — 
That,  too  frail,  we  vainly  try 

To  grasp  the  least  beatitude : 

Lo,  voices  o'er  Timers  solemn  Deep 

Their  wondrous  unison  of  promise  keep, 

First  uttered  in  prophetic  strain,  * 
Then  in  tones  more  Divine  caught  up  again, 
Assuring,  with  kind  word, 
A  strength  beyond  our  own  —  an  unction  from  the  Loud! 

Was  it  but  a  melody 

Idly  breathing  on  the  air,  — 
Swelling  twice,  and  then  to  be 

Thenceforward  only  echoes  there? 
Do  not  the  Watchmen  it  foretold 
Their  joyful  rounds  on  walls  of  Sion  hold? 
And  who  are  those  that,  white-robed,  stand 


34  Fift^t^   ^luulai/  after  Epijthni)/. 

To-day  before  our  shrine  on  either  hand, 
But  its  pledged  Ministry, 
And  Priests  who  offer  till  the  last  Epiphany ! 

Faint  not,  then,  your  task  beside ; 
Cast  up  high  the  Gospel-way ; 
Lift  your  banners,  far  and  wide, 

For  ensigns  to  the  souls  that  stray ; 

And,  where  the  road  may  darkling  grow, 

Let  your  bright  torches  all  the  brighter  glow : 

So,  when  Christ  comes  along  one  Day 
His  work  to  prove  and  His  reward  to  pay, 
Yours  may  be  found  and  given,  — 
As  Lamps  were  ye  on  earth,  Stars  shall  ye  grow  in  Heaven. 


^  The  Sermon  on  the'  Mount  ui  the  Second  Morning  Lesson  for  the  Day, 
•'See  Isa.  Ixi.  1,  and  S.  Luke,  iv.  IG — 21,  lor  thb  unison. 


^hi\^  SuuJiinr  after  (!3pi|?|)cin5 


TO-DAY  AND    T0-3I0RR0W. 


"  Soft  Gales  that,  laden  with  the  balm 
Of  Evening,  fan  my  cheek, — 

Say,  will  ye  make  the  Morrow  calm, 
Or  troubled?  —  wild,  or  meek? 

"  And  you,  fast-changing  Clouds,  that  wear 
Your  gracious,  sunset  forms — 

Say,  will  ye  deck  a  Morning  fair 
Or  herald  it  with  storms?"  — 

So  spoke  my  heart  as  once  the  West, 

At  night-fall,  met  my  gaze ; 
So,  fain  my  self-tormenting  breast 

Would  pierce  the  Evening-haze. 

It  was  not  then  the  breeze  that  stirr'd 

Nor  clouds,  half- vocal  grown ; 

But,  from  God's  oft-repeated  word. 

Echoed  anotlier  tone: 
35 


36  Si:tth  Sundiit/  after  Epiphany. 

"  My  servant!  care  for  what  thou  hast ; 

Dream  not  of  joy  or  sorrow- 
Around  the  hidden  Future  cast; 

To-day  shapes  out  To-morrow. 

"  Even  as  thou  workest,  it  will  bo ; 

The  Means  and  End  accord ; 
Who  works  for  Earth,  or  works  for  Me, 

Each  has  his  own  reward. 

"  Think'st  thou  the  gentle  lilies  plan 
The  dews  they  drink  to-night?  — 

Can  thought  of  thine  prolong  a  span, 
Thy  life-time  or  thy  height  ?  — 

"  Then  humble,  like  those  lilies,  be ; 

Like  them,  look  upward  still ; 
And  do  and  suffer  trustfully, 

Waiting  upon  my  will ! 

"  It  may  be  that  this  deepening  gloom 
But  thicker,  darker  grows, 

—  A  shadow  that  th'  expectant  Tomb 
Upon  each  victim,  throws. 


To-Dny  and    To-Morroir.  37 

*•  If  so,  what  will  To-morrow  be  ? 

—  What  Life's  To-day  has  been  ; 
—  Or  troubled,  dark  and  sore  to  see, 

Or  of  immortal  sheen  I 

"  New  Earth,  new  Heavens  with  brighter  beam 

Shall  break  upon  thine  eyes ; 
Or  that  dense  smoke  and  lurid  gleam 

Whose  sharp  worm  never  dies  I" 

Chill  fell  the  tone  upon  my  breast, 

Thicker  the  Evening-haze, 
Yet  a  soft  ray  dwelt  in  the  West 

And,  peaceful,  met  my  gaze  I 


uubajj  tallcb  s>tptua5rsim;t, 


ATHETESIS. 


O,  wilt  Thou  still  receive 

The  heart  that  turns  to  Thee  ? 
—  That,  early  taught  for  sin  to  grieve, 
But  frail  Thy  promise  to  believe, 
Would  yet  the  Spring-time  lost  retrieve 
Again  Thy  face  to  see. 

Lord  !  Thou  hast  known  its  way ; 

Thine  eye,  all  watchful,  beamed 
Upon  me,  when  I  stooped  to  pray 
As  when,  delirious  and  astray, 
I  madly  thought  to  curse  the  day 

That  first  upon  me  gleamed  ! 

Thy  hand  my  footsteps  kept. 

That,  erring,  longed  to  tread 
Where  IMcasure's  gaudy  paireant  swept 


Athctesis. 

Or  where,  entranced,  the  senses  slept 
Until  her  victims,  all  unwept, 
Sank  lost  among  the  Dead  ! 

Nor  less  within  Thy  sight 

The  strife  that  slumbered  not. 
When  Fancy  flung  his  robes  of  lignt 
O'er  fell  and  field,  o'er  Day  and  Night : 
Till,  dazzled  by  the  visions  bright, 
I  scorned  my  humble  lot. 

And  when  I,  weary,  sought 

To  take  a  better  part, 
And  to  the  shrine  of  Science  brought 
All  eager  vows  and  zeal  unbought, 
And  half-divine  her  altars  thought,  — 

My  God,  Thou  read'dst  my  heart ! 

Thou  hadst  it  when,  at  Morn, 

'Twas  lifted  unto  Thee  ; 
And,  when  the  Day  was  older  worn, 
Mid  Pleasure's  lure  or  Learning's  scorn, 
Thou  saVst  it  laboring,  though  forlorn. 

Again  Thy  face  to  see ! 


40  SuTului/  called  Scptnagcsima. 

Take  it  then  close  to  Thee, 
Yet  while  I  dare  to  pray ; 
Lest,  mid  my  struggles  Thine  to  be, 
My  lifted  heart  and  bended  knee 
And  lingering  hope,  one  day  I  sec 
Myself  a  Castaway! 


5^uub;in  tallcii  S^^iigtsiiiuu 


THE  SEED    OF  THE  BLESSED. 


"I\  tby  seed  shall  the  Earth  be  blessed!" 
—  Thus  was  the  patriarch  addressed, 

liut  not  as  if  of  many,  or  of  all : 

'Twas  but  a  glimpse,  a  flash  before 
The  pomp  that  ages  yet  shroud  o'er, 

Of  One  whom  brethren  glad,  their  Prince  shall  call. 

Long  years,  and  still  that  pomp  delays : 

But,  ever  and  anon,  there  plays 
Prophetic  light  through  the  dim,  dusky  vail. 

Intensely  bright  with  promised  grace ; 

So  that  the  fainting  Syrian's  race 
Might  well  have  clung  to  their  exclusive  pale. 

And  so,  nor  wisely  nor  too  well, 

They  did  cling  to  the  ancient  spell ; 

Contented  with  the  title  of  Elect: 
41 


42  JSuiukii/  called  Sexagcsinui. 

But  proving  by  scant  faithful  deed 
Themselves  to  be  of  his  high  seed, 
"Whose  faith  still  swam  when  dearest  hopes  were  wreck'd. 

0,  fire  profane !  0,  hearth  accurst ! 

When,  one  day,  doomed  to  hear  the  worst, 
The  record  of  God's  threats  they  wildly  burn: 

— In  stately  gannents,  standing  by 

They  let  the  hallowed  ashes  lie 
And  scatter,  as  of  old,  in  worse  plagues  to  return ! 

From  such  strange  scene,  from  such  sad  fate 

*Tis  good  to  turn  and  see  how  wait 
God's  blessings  on  the  Faithful  and  his  race; 

The  sons  of  Rechab,  firm  and  true, 

Take  place  above  th'  untrusting  Jew 
And  stand,  all  time,  before  th'  Almighty's  f^ice ! 

Needs  not  to  ask  what  this  may  mean 

Of  princedom  liigh  or  lot  serene, 
Greater  or  less  than  Cliristians  now  may  earn  : 

But,  since  God's  dealings  ever  run 

The  one  best  way,  as  He  is  One, 
Strive  more  the  Ivule  than  the  Reward  to  learn. 


The  Seed  of  the  JUcsscd.  43 

That  rule  is  written  all  the  same 

For  us,  as  erst  for  Abraham, 
(Our  aids  far  more,  our  part  far  easier  done, 

Now  realties  to  types  succeed 

And  promises  melt  in  the  deed:) 
Believe  and  do,  and  Heaven  is  surely  won. 

Not,  as  though  God  our  service  needs 

Or  pays  for  serviceable  deeds ; 
In  pure  free-will,  His  Paradise  is  given ; 

But  Man  must  fit  himself  on  Earth 

To  esteem  that  Paradise's  worth  — 
Who  loves  not  here,  he  cannot  live  in  Heaven  I 

Therefore,  when  at  the  Saviour's  feet 

The  Woman,  with  her  ointment  sweet 
And  flowing  tears  and  love  exceeding,  knelt 

She  proved,  even  by  such  offering  slight. 

Her  faith  in  Him  before  Whose  sight 
Glow  future  fruits  ere  yet  the  bud  is  felt. 

Yet  only  His  sight  has  such  scope. 
If  we  would  win  her  heavenly  hope. 
Not  only  must  wo  kneel,  like  her,  and  weep 


44  Sniuhuj  called  Scxageslina. 

But  steep  our  robes  of  sin  and  strife 
"With  odors  of  a  holy  life, 
—  Our  place  among  the  Blest  Seed,  thus  we  keep! 


luiliai)  calkii   (Oiiiii()u;igtsimci. 


THE  POWER   OF  UNBELIEF. 


Sad  music  —  tliat,  from  prophet-lyre  ^ 
Breatbed  out,  went  circling,  swelling  on ; 

Until  it  readied,  in  regions  higher. 

And  shook  the  bolt  Man's  sin  had  won  I 

— How  like,  in  all  but  Heavenly  fire, 
To  our  dark  World's  complaining  tone ! 

We  mourn  because  some  City  fair 
That,  queen-like,  sat  amid  the  rest, 

Now  lonely  lies  and,  in  despair. 

Beholds  her  Star  sink  in  the  West ; 

—  The  jewels  from  her  fragrant  hair. 

Torn  oflf  at  some  new  Bride's  behest ! 


More  plaintive,  still,  our  loud  lament. 

If  sinful  youth  and  hardened  age 
A  yoke  of  sorrows  sharp  have  bent 

45 


46  Sumhiy  ciiUcd   Quinquaycsima. 

For  us  to  wear,  —  0,  pilgrimage 
The  woefuUcst !  0,  wreath  oft  sent 
For  naught  but  Death  to  disengage ! 

Perchance  with  purer  sympathy, 
Because  the  ways  of  Sion  mourn, 

We  weep  and  half-judge  murmuringly 
His  wisdom.  Who  with  all  has  borne ; 

And  think  that  Heaven  will  fuller  be 

The  deeper  the  Church-pavement 's  worn. 

Dear  God,  Thou  knowcst!  —  but,  though  we  see 

A  virtue  in  external  forms, 
There  must  an  inner  fitness  be 

Ere  Love  Divine  or  lights  or  warms, 
—  A  wondrous  reciprocity. 

Each  carried  in  the  other's  arms ! 

Thou  canst  work  miracles,  we  know : 
And  Thou  who  causest,  dost  control 

And,  ev'n  to  human  hands,  allow 

Strange  power  to  heal  and  to  console ; 

From  whence  tho  legend  old  did  grow 

That  Man  from  Heaven,  Life's  tire  once  stole ! 


Th(    Poirrr   nf  Unl»liff. 

But  jct  with  measure,  such  supplies: 
Thine  own  ordained  Servants'  throng 

Once  failed  an  111  to  exorcise ; 
And  it  is  writ,  Thy  truths  among, 

That  Thou  Thyself,  in  human  guise, 
Foundst  Unbelief  for  Thee  too  strong 


0,  Brother,  let  us  hushed  remain ; 

Nor  murmur  that  God  suffers  sin ; 
Until  we  learn  the  minstrel-strain 

That  drives  out  the  strong  Foe  within. 
If  Christ  Himself  were  here  again. 

Could  He  work  wonders  with  His  kinV 


^  The  doleful  Lamentatioas  of  Jeremiah  are  heard,  both  morninp^  and 
erening',  on  this  Day. 


J;irst  J^uiiban  in  f  cut. 


THK   TEMPTATfOX. 


'Tis  Morning;  o'er  the  dark-blue  sky 
No  mist  to  float  —  no  cloud  to  fly; 
And,  brightly  gemmed,  the  crystal  Deep 
Seems  in  its  Naiad  caves  to  sleep : 

In  such  an  age,  in  such  an  hour, 
If  thoughtless,  be  Thou  near  to  bless 

And  keep  me  by  Thy  watchful  power, 
O,  Tempted  in  the  WildornossI 

And  when,  o'er  Land  and  Deep,  there  streams 
A  glorious  flood  of  Noon-day  beams ; 
Keep  me  in  forest,  cave,  or  dell. 
Or  where  the  angry  waters  swell. 

In  crowded  haunts  where  men  allure. 
Mid  foeman's  wrath,  or  friends  caress  — 

In  each,  in  all,  preserve  mc  pure 

0,  TcMiiptcd  in  the  Wildcniessl 
•18 


The   Temptation.  49 

And  when  the  Evening's  welcome  shado 
Shall  find  me  by  some  fountain  laid ; 
Or,  as  she  shakes  her  dewy  wreath, 
Beholds  me  bowing  unto  Death ; 

Do  Thou  be  near,  my  soul  to  keep 
In  that  sad  hour  of  sore  distress ; 

And  unaffrighted  let  me  sleep, 
0^  Tempted  in  the  Wilderness! 

I  pray  to  Thee,  for  Thou  hast  known 
My  spu-it's  suffering,  all  Thine  own ; 
And  earthly  wants  and  misbelief. 
And  this  world's  glory  and  its  grief, 

And  other  gods  and  selfish  sway, — 
All  these  Thyself,  did  once  oppress : 

— Help  me  all  these  to  put  away, 
0,  Tempted  in  the  Wilderness  f 


^tcoitb  ^uiii);iii  in  lent 


THE   TWO    VOfCES. 


Once,  upon  a  sunny  Autumn  day, 
'Neath  some  ancient  forest-trees  I  lay, 
Watohing  shadows  in  tlieir  fitful  play, 

Seeing  how  each  strove  to  catch  tlie  other; 
And  I  could  but  think :  How  like  are  ye 
To  Man's  heart-aims,  and  how  like  is  he 
(Himself  but  a  shade,  as  Angels  see,) 

To  you,  fleeting  Forms,  as  if  he  were  your  Brother ! 

Then  there  came,  from  out  the  Forest-deep 
Voices  as  of  two  that  converse  keep 
—  Both  sweet,  one  sad  —  while  all  else  did  ^h'cp 
"Wherefore,"  breathed  the  sad  One, "  should  I  curry 
Still  my  golden  vase  to  Adonai  ?  — 
Filled  with  perfume  of  devoutest  sigh, 
His  austere  glance  oft  hath  passed  it  by 

And,  for  gracious  gifts  in  answer,  bid  me  tarry. 

no 


The    Two    Voices.  51 

"  Often  mark  I  whence  my  perfumes  come ; 

—  From  pale  flowers,  alas,  that  cannot  bloom, 
Drooping  in  an  undeserved  gloom. 

Or  from  plants,  no  dew-drops  ever  cherish ;  — 
Yet,  when  hopefuUest  to  carry  back. 
With  glad  speed,  the  graces  that  they  lack 

—  Showers  and  sunshine  on  my  grateful  track,  — 
Rayless  all  and  dcwless,  they  are  left  to  perish !" 

"  Murmur  not,  0  kindest  Spirit !"  —  here 
Swelled  responsive  a  new  Tone  and  clear,  — 
"  Nor  thy  Maker's  ways,  most  equal,  fear ; 

lie  to  each  one,  as  his  faith  is,  giveth ; 

Lo,  His  Day,  —  so  long-time  sought  in  vain 
By  ev'n  kings  and  prophets  and,  when  plain, 
Lighting  but  the  lowliest  to  His  train, — 

Is  still  Noon  or  Night,  just  as  each  one  receiveth, 

"  And  if  lore,  the  Wise  could  not  attain, 
Grew  to  be  poor,  helpless  Infants'  gain, 

—  Who  so  fit  to  learn  that  Martyr-strain  ? 
—  Who,  to  wear  that  bloody  Baptism  given? 

Ever  thus  to  meekest,  humblest  hearts 
That  Grief  skills  to  bear  their  patient  parts, 


r)2  Second  Sundnt/  tn   Lent. 

"More  than  asked  for,  the  All-Good  imparts; 
Though  they  know  it  not,  lo,  Satan  foils  from  Heaven !" 

Then,  amid  that  ancient  Forest-deep, 
Both  Tones  died  away,  and  all  did  sleep; 
But  the  music  in  my  heart  I  keep. 

Echoing  now  the  sad  part,  now  the  other ; 
While  its  sweetest  cadence,  still  I  deem 
(And  I  found  since  in  God's  Book  the  theme, 
Whence  I  know  it  was  not  all  a  dream,) 

"God  docs  nauprht  without  cause :  murmur  not,  my  Brother. 


iL()irb  ^unban  in  %tix\, 


/KNOWLEDGE   THAT  IS  NOT  A   DREAM. 


'Tis  true,  all  speech  of  Heavenly  love, 

Wisdom  above  mere  daily  ken, 
Our  worldly  spirits,  fail  to  move; 
While  still  our  shattered  day-dreams  prove 
How  much  we  need  to  know,  how  scant  our  lore  has  been ! 

If  to  the  Prophet's  cell  we  go, 

Or  at  pure  Priestly  lips  inquire,  — 
How  dull  our  intellect,  and  slow  I 
Or,  if  some  fevered  thoughts  do  glow 
Within,  they  are  but  caught  from  strange  and  heathen  fire ! 

Such  fires  as,  builded  every  day 

And  nursed  at  our  heart-altars,  bum ; 

Shrines  for  our  Learning's  proud  display 

And  on  whose  horns  our  hold  we  lay, 

— Alas,  both  horn  and  hold  how  frail,  one  Day,  to  learn  I 

53 


54  Third  Sunday  in  Lent. 

Down  to  moss-covered  Stones  we  bow ; 

Within  whose  mass  compacted,  stands 
(We  think)  the  tale  of  when  and  how 
Gop  formed  the  solid  earth  below, 
While  subtile  flame  and  floods  obeyed  His  plastic  hands. 

And  when,  beneath  those  rocks'  defence, 

We  find  some  lowly  modest  Flower, 
We  torture  it  for  evidence ; 
The  lessons  of  its  innocence 
We  hold  but  parables  for  some  poetic  hour. 

And  ev'n  the  Winds,  careering  free, 

AVe  question  on  their  viewless  track  — 
Explore  their  mission,  what  it  be ; 
—  They  blow  but  as  God  lists,  while  we 
List  not  of  Him  whose  breath  impels  or  holds  them  back  ! 

More  venturous  still,  some  burning  soul 

O'erleaps  the  bounds  of  this  Earth-sphere ; 
And,  where  unkenn'd  of  planets  roll 
Led  by  sweet  Music's  soft  control, 
He  calls  and  claims  a  Stranger  to  its  due  career. 


Knowledge  that  is  Xut  a  Dream.  55 

These  all  arc  wonders ;  and  the  tale 

That  stories  them,  might  well  be  held 
A  Parable  whose  folded  vail 
Encloses  in  its  dusky  pale 
But  few  whose  taste  or  trust  is  not  full  soon  repelled. 

Yet  long  and  wide,  the  thick  array 

Of  listeners  to  such  lofty  themes : 
—  Youth  pauses  on  its  heedless  way, 
Age  fain  its  ebbing  force  would  stay,  [dreams. 

While  Strength  and  Beauty  bow  before  these  Knowledgc- 

But  Knowledge  that  is  Not  a  Dream, 

Has  scanty  pupils  for  its  lot ; 
Christ's  truths,  as  hopeless  mysteries,  seem 
And  Tabor's  light,  an  idle  gleam, 
— Elias  comes  again,  and  the  World  knows  him  not! 

Lord,  cleanse  me  of  the  desolate  pride 
That  longs  within  my  heart  to  dwell 
And  watch  (a  strong  man,  armed)  beside 
Its  prey,  till,  of  its  empire  wide, 
Neglected  fasts  and  prayer  too  late  would  break  the  Spell  I 


J[Ourtj)   ^unbaD  in  ^'nit. 


THE   TWO    VISITS. 


0^'CE,  in  an  eager  but  yet  slow  procession 

Winding  round  Olivet, 
With  sorrowing  heart  and  glance  of  deep  depression, 

Our  rudest  housings  set. 

Came  the  Redeemer;  —  not  with  gorgeous  banners 

Of  miglit  and  victory; 
Welcomed,  'tis  true,  with  loud,  short-lived  hosannas 

Changed  soon  to :   Cruci/i/  ! 

Once  more  He  comes;  not  for  one  Race  or  Nation, 

In  patient,  weeping  love; 
But  sternly  searching  all  through  His  Creation, 

To  punish  or  approve. 

Who  shall  portray  the  terrors  of  that  Visit?  — 

Prophets,  with  hearts  inspired 

And  lips  Heaven-touched,  have  faintly  told  what  is  it, 

—  World-dreaded,  world-desired. 
66 


The    Tu:o    Visits.  57 

Wherewith  shall  wo,  Ilis  creatures,  come  before  Ilim  ? 

Will  clouds  of  incense  hide 
The  sinner?  Or  will  victims'  blood,  shed  o'er  him, 

God's  anger  turn  aside? 

Can  He  be  won  by  human  intercession 

Even  though,  (0,  saddest  dole !) 
We  give  our  first-born  for  our  own  transgression, 

The  Body  for  the  Soul  ? 

Nay,  none  of  these  can  earn  a  glance  of  favor; 

Only  a  life  aligned 
By  His  own  pattern  and  His  gospel's  savor, 

That  day,  will  tolerance  find. 

Only  the  eyes  that  loved  to  trace  the  story 

Of  His  long-suffering, 
3Iay  bear  to  gaze,  unblinded,  on  the  glory 

Of  His  World-visiting. 

Only  the  heart  that  thrones  Christ  in  its  living 

And  feels  to  die  is  gain, 
May  meet  Him  safely  in  His  sentence-giving 

On  the  vast  Judgment-plain  ! 


J;ift|)  *unb;ij]  in  i^ciit. 


THE  ALTAR' FIRE. 


PRIEST. 
Gather  around;  with  voices  blending, 

Worship  beneath  this  crimsoned  shrine, 
"With  prayers  that,  incense-like,  ascending 

May  pierce  into  the  Throne  Divine ! 

CUOIR. 

Brightly,  0  Altar-flame 
Burn  on ;  thou  bearest  thy  last  offering : 
No  more,  at  twilight  dim,  in  any  Name 
Shall  Minister  his  trembling  Victim  bring. 

No  more,  no  more, 
Shall  Man  with  sacrifice  or  perfumes  rare 
Or  rich  libations  at  thy  foot,  implore, 

Amid  some  splendid  hour,  his  God  to  spare 

PRIEST. 

Gather  around,  the  blood  that  staincth 

This  hallowed  place,  shall  be  your  aid ; 
58 


The  Altar-Fire.  59 

Till  gladdening  unction  that  remaincth 
Will  make  the  Trembling,  not  afraid ! 

CIIOIK. 

But  with  a  Sacrifice, 
A  Fire,  a  Priest  to  dwell  continually 
In  Heaven,  in  each  one's  heart  —  where,  without  price, 
Atonement,  Hope,  Eternal  life  may  be  — 

We  worship  now. 
Trusting  that  Thou  wilt  hear  our  sorrowing  prayer ; 
And,  as  we  breathe  our  sadly-lingering  vow. 
Ask  Thee  to  sanctify  the  Kneelers  there ! 

PRIEST. 

Gather  around  ;  with  faces  lowly 

And  hearts  repenting,  bend  in  prayer ; 
And  if  ye  weep,  lo !  Angels  holy 

Each  precious  drop  to  Heaven  will  bear. 

CHOIR. 

And  Thou,  0,  Victim  blest ! 
Who  bent'st  Thyself  from  out  Thy  glorious  Heaver. 
(Left  now  Thy  starlit  place  of  calmest  rest 
And  purity)  to  be  for  mortals  given  — 


60  Fifth   Sunday  in  Lent. 

IIow  in  Thy  sight 
Ought  we  to  dwell,  as  still  remembering 
That  every  breath  of  Earth,  or  feeling  light 
May  damp  the  flame  of  Thy  pure  ofiering ! 

PRIEST. 

Draw  near ;  around  us  all  is  fading 

Into  the  gloom  of  coming  Night ; 
Only  our  Fire  has  known  no  shading  — 

See,  how  it  leaps  in  living  light ! 

CHOIR. 

Burn  —  as  on  thee  we  gaze, 
0 !  Altar-fire,  we  see  the  Earth  grow  dim. 
Be  it  so  e'er :  let  thy  perpetual  blaze, 

Hiding  the  World,  give  light  to  worship  Ilim ; 

And  when  no  more 
May  the  dark  veil  of  falling  Night  be  riven, 
Our  God  shall  make  thy  Flame,  fresh  radiance  pour 
To  guide  our  trembling  footsteps  into  Heaven ! 


Siiiibai)  lurt-kfore  €\\sUx. 


THE  MARCH  OF  KEDRON. 


Sign  of  the  Heavenly  Year  — 
Pledge  that  the  Home  is  near, 

Tn  whose  breath,  its  children's  hearts  expand 
When  those  who  fear  the  Lord, 
J]ach  to  each,  with  pleasant  word, 

Often  speak  and  grasp  the  others'  hand. 

God  hears  each  warm  salute; 

GrOD  marks  each  greeting  mute; 
In  His  Book,  all  such  are  vrritten  down : 

Tears,  gems  are  counted  there  — 

Every  smile,  a  setting  rare 
Laid  before  Him  for  His  jewelled  crown  I 

Dost  thou,  then,  ask  if  soon 

AVill  that  high  count  be  done, 

Soul!  bewildered  in  Earth's  sensuous  laws?  — 
Gl 


62  Sunday  next-hr/orc  Easter. 

God  waits  to  publish  it, 
But  for  Man  to  grow  more  lit; 
Each  love-pulse  the  moment,  nearer  draws ! 

So  it  proved  long  ago 

When  that  dense  march  and  slow 

Circled  Olivet  and  Kedron  passed ; 
Each  warm  Hosanna  there, 
Each  devout  Palm-bearer's  prayer, 

Served  the  lingering  Easter-day  to  haste. 

So  can  it  prove  to-day. 
If  we  will  only  lay 
At  Christ's  feet  some  cast-off  cloak  of  sin 

—  Such  a  self-victory, 
(Though  no  human  eyes  may  see) 

Palms  for  us  to  bear  in  Heaven,  doth  win  : 

And  by  all  springing  hopes, 

—  Each  longing  wish  that  drooj>s 
Till  the  Sun  of  righteousness  arise, — 

We  (though  not  in  the  flcsli) 
Are  following  Chiust's  march  afresli 
And  irrow  nuvt  to  earn  Tlis  sacrifice! 


(Basttr-gnj 


TUB  RETURN  OF   THE  LEAF. 


It  was  the  Winter-time, 

When  the  sweet  Angel-chime 
Stole  o'er  the  Chaldee  shepherds'  slumberous  sense ; 

Ringing  out,  full  and  clear, 

The  burden  of  its  cheer : 
"  Glory  to  God  on  high ;  good  will  to  men  from  thence :" 

—  A  chant  that,  taught  then  from  above, 
Ilath  ever  since,  sublime,  intoned  the  Churches  love ! 

Fit  was  it  that,  bedight 

In  dress  of  snowy  white, 
The  Earth,  all  bride-like,  should  receive  her  Lord  : 

Nor  strange,  a  wintry  chill 

Her  very  breath  should  fill 
Waiting  so  long  for  His  delayed,  prophetic  word. 

Alas,  all  help  for  her  was  o'er, 
Unless  the  Woman-born  should  her  lost  peace  restore ! 

63 


t)4  Eaatcr-Dajj. 

Three  decades,  hushed,  pass  by ; 

Three  years  of  ministry, 
Of  wouders,  wisdom,  costliest  love  forloru ; 

Three  days  of  mortal  gloom 

In  the  mysterious  Tomb ; 
Ere  He  may,  glowing,  rise  on  the  true  Bridal-morn, 

—  Ere  consummated  the  emprize 
That  to  our  Manhood  frail,  the  Godhead  s  Self  allies. 

E'er  since,  on  that  blest  Day 

Glows  now  a  vernal  ray, 
As  if  to  mark  a  new  Creation's  Spring ; 

Earth,  clad  in  loveliest  flowers 

All  fragrant  with  soft  showers, 
Spreads  her  green,  jewelled  carpet  for  her  Lord  and  King ; 

While,  to  the  upward-looking  eye, 
New  Hope,  new  Grace,  new  Life  sliine  in  the  open  sky. 

Therefore,  each  rolling  year, 

The  withered  leaves  and  sere 
That  icy  Christmas  scatters,  crisped  and  torn, 

Wander  till  Easter  comes ; 

When  in  their  ancient  homes 
And  on  old  forest-boughs,  they  find  them>:elve>  ncw-l.toin. 


The  Return  of  the  Leaf.  05 

—  T}'pe,  how  the  Child  of  Virgin-womb, 
The  grieved  and  sorrowing  3Ian,  rose  radiant  from  the  Tomb ! 

Lo !  ere  the  morning  breaks, 

Night  hangs  in  thickest  flakes 
Upon  the  curtain  of  th'  expectant  East ; 

Just  as  our  Lenten  cloud 

And  gloomier  Sabbath-shroud 
And  Friday-cross  precede  our  glorious  Paschal-feast, 

While  yet  we  struggle  here  on  Earth, 
Mid  varying  light  and  shade,  for  our  own  Easter-birth ! 

Sure  as  that  sad  Week's  flight 

Leads  to  glad,  Easter  light ; 
Sure  as  green  leaves,  each  year,  the  boughs  do  hide ; 

Sure  as  the  Christmas-snow 

Melts  ere  the  3Iarch-winds  blow. 
Or  as  the  hue  and  breath  of  flowers  become  a  Bride ;  — 

Our  fasts  and  chill  and  woe  and  Night, 
Wrapped  in  the  Satiour's  shroud,  shall  turn  to  endless  Light ! 


fusi  ^uniian  aftrr  (taster. 


THE  LAUNCH  OF  THE    WRECK. 


Twice  a  thousand  years  and  more 
Had  flung  their  wrecks  along  Tune's  shore; 
And  Earth-pilgrims  day  by  day, 
Sank  wearied,  worn-out,  by  the  way 
—  Happy,  if  where  wild-flowers  wave 
They  found  some  calm,  love-tended  grave ; 
But  no  echo  swelled  the  strain 
That  buried  Forms  should  live  again         [the  Main ! 
—  That  those  wrecked  Ships  once  more  should,  gallant,  plough 

Dimmer,  for  each  younger  year, 
Glows  that  bright,  early  truth  and  clear ; 
Fewer,  from  the  Forest-deep 
AVhere  patriarchal  whispers  sleep, 
Float  the  crisp  and  withered  leaves ; 
And,  stronger  as  this  "World-life  heaves, 
Fainter  flows  Tradition's  stream ; 
Till  Eden-knowledge  grew  a  dream 

And  Man  forgot  (or  worse)  his  high  ancestral  theme. 

G6 


TIlg   Lannch  of  the    Wreck.  67 

Where,  at  last,  was  that  lost  theme 
Again  revived  ?  And  whence  the  gleam 
O'er  sad  sepulchres  and  urns, 
That  now  in  Christian  church-yards  burns 
With  a  ray  so  pure,  profound  ?  — 
It  was  not  in  old,  classic  ground ; 
Not  where  Tempe's  lovely  vale 
Was  yearly  sad  with  Orphic  wail ; 
Nor  where  Dodona  kept  her  doves  and  priestess  pale  ; 


Nor  even  whence  those  sweet  doves  flew 
—  That  olden  clime  of  tales  half  true,  — 
Where  a  dim,  religious  Art 
Shewed  but  its  mysteries  in  part, 
Where  the  darksome  Pyramid 
The  patriarchal  doctrine  hid, 
And  the  Statue-music  weird 
That  Thebes,  night  and  morning,  heard, 
No  answering  chord  of  Hope  in  human  bosoms  stirred ! 


But  in  lowly  Palestine  — 

When  Jewish  glories  ceased  to  shine, 

And  God's  Temple,  oft  profaned, 


68  First   ,Si(U(h(^/  after  Easter. 

For  but  one  offering  more  remained ; 
When  proplictic  pledge  must  be 
Or  false  or  all  reality  — 
Waked  at  last  a  murmur  low, 
A  Woman's  tone,  half-joy,  half-woe, 
Breathing  a  wondrous  tale  to  deadened  hearts  and  slow ! 


Twice,  the  sad  Passover-moon, 
W^ith  earliest  Even  climbing  soon 
Olivet,  the  livelong  night 
Had  watched  how  Angel-servants  bright 
Tended  a  new  Tomb  with  tears. 
Where  lay  awhile  their  Lord  and  hers ; 
Till  His  mystic  slumber  o'er, 
He  came  forth  to  the  light  once  more 
And  taught  one  gentle  heart  to  wonder  and  ador( 


Ever  since,  that  heart's  glad  creed : 
"Christ  from  the  dead  is  risen  indeed" 
—  Blending  with  revealed  lore. 
The  World  had  lost  or  scorned  before  — 
Gathers,  as  each  day  sweeps  by, 
Fresh  votaries  to  swell  the  cry; 


The  Launch  vj  the    Wnck.  60 

And,  ytored  up  in  tlie  holiest  place 
Of  Christ's  own  sacramental  grace, 
Our  graves  and  altars  both,  it  crowns  with  life  and  peace. 


First-fruits  of  the  souls  that  slept  — 
Pledge  that  our  bodies  shall  be  kept 
Like  Thine  own  to  rise,  whose  food 
Is  Thy  mysterious  flesh  and  blood  — 
Teach  us,  calm,  to  leave  dear  friends 
To  strange  repose,  as  this  life  ends ; 
Hearing  all  the  while  this  strain 
"  Those  Forms,  so  still,  shall  breathe  again ; 
Those  wrecked  Life-barks  once  more  shall,  gallant,  plough 

the  Main !" 


Sttonb  ^unbair  after  (Basttr. 


THE  HEALING   OB'  EPIIRAIM, 


Sweet  promise  to  the  half-learned,  stricken  heart 

That  trembles  o'er  its  part; 
Sweet  comfort  to  the  wandering  souls  that  mourn 

And  long  but  to  return : 
"In  Me,  their  help  the  needy  ones  shall  find; 
In  Me,  the  fatherless  a  Father  kind  ?" 

Such,  the  soft  accents  to  Thine  elder  Race 

Of  Thine  unwearied  grace ; 
Such  were  the  tones  that  long-sought  Ephraim  heard 

In  Thy  prophetic  word, 
Breathed  then  in  vain  along  his  desolate  way. 
But  echoing  yet  in  Christian  ears  to-day. 

Be  ours,  to  love  its  music  and  to  learn 

Each  close,  each  thrilling  turn 

That,  stronger  than  old  Orpheus'  fabled  strain, 
70 


The   IJralinf/  of  Ephraim. 

Tells  of  the  Dead  again 
Recalled  from  more  than  an  earth-covered  grave, 
Ransomed  by  One  who  died  that  He  might  save ! 

But  if  those  gladdening  airs  inspired,  should  prove 

Too  lofty  for  our  love, 
(While,  all  the  time,  our  heart  reluctant  owns 

The  sway  of  earthlier  tones) 
Soon  as  their  cadences  unheeded  die, 
A  sterner  strain  and  wailings  sad  swell  high. 

Lo!  o'er  the  desert  of  the  Arab  horde, 
The  wild  wind  of  the  Lord 

—  The  whistling,  mortal  wind  —  sweeps  as  of  old 

Till  Ephraim's  sin  be  told, 

—  His  hidden  sin,  he  thought  no  more  to  see, 

—  His  bound  up,  yet  disclosed,  iniquity. 

So  sweeps  and  searches  still  a  breath  from  Him, 

Each  secret  shrine  and  dim ; 
So  glare,  like  leopards'  on  their  evening-prey. 

Eyes  on  our  wilful  way: 
While  eVn  the  King  who  else  would  guard  our  path, 
(An  angry  gift)  is  crucified  in  wrath ! 


72  Second  Sumla}j  of  (a-  Easter. 

Yet  where  He  sits,  the  First-born  from  the  dead, 
He  waits  His  grace  to  shed 

O'er  each  sad  heart,  o'er  all  returning  feet ; 
And  if  with  some  He  meet 

Too  lame  for  aught  but  at  His  door  to  sit, 

—  He  heals  and  strengthens  them  to  enter  it. 

Not  such  as  these,  alone,  His  kindness  prove ; 

But  instant  in  His  love. 
By  prophets,  miracles  and  providence 

And  inward  stricken  sense. 
He  ever  calls  us  as  Lambs  to  the  fold 
And  pledges  His  own  blood  all  safe  to  hold. 

Well  may  we  treasure  such  a  promised  Best, 
So  called  and  healed  and  blest ; 

Well  may  our  echoing  hearts  take  up  again 
That  sweetest  prophet  strain : 

"  From  Him  their  fruit,  the  barren  ones  sliall  liiid 

In  Him,  the  fatherless  a  Father  kind  !" 


cTfjirb  ^luibajj  after  €ixshx, 


THE  CHURCH  IN  THE   WILDERNESS. 


A  little  while!  —  Say,  have  we  learned 

The  words'  full  meaning,  yet? 
'Or  is  not  rather  to  be  earned 
A  lesson  true  that  hidden  burned 
But  fraught,  if  only  rightly  turned. 
With  gracious  pledge  and  sweet  V 

'  More  gracious  for  this  cloudy  day 
That  wraps  our  Desert-church ; 
Closing  to  human  skill  her  way. 
Veiling  their  fault  who  from  her  stray 
Or  listless  far  off  rather  stay 
Than  for  her  altar  search  ! 


Saviour,  for  three  sad  troubled  days 
Thine  early  servants  lost 

The  lustre  of  Thy  wondrous  ways, 

7:: 


Third  Siindny  (tftcr  KKnter. 

Till  Easter  blest  their  tear-dimmed  gaze ; 
Then  all  was  dark  till  the  displays 
Of  fiery  Pentecost. 

So  do  thy  Servants  find  it  still : 
—  First  called  to  follow  Thee 

By  some  heart-piercing  tone,  their  will 

Half  from  the  world  won  —  l)right  hopes  fill 

The  horizon  of  their  hopes,  until 
The  bridal  moments  flee. 

A  little  while  —  and  all  is  dark; 

Deserted  all,  and  lone ; 
Nor  welcomes  the  dim  Morn,  the  lark ; 
A  cloud  envelopes  shrine  and  ark ; 
Watching  for  Tlice,  we  only  mark 

A  cold  and  sealed  stone  I 

A  little  while  — if  patient  there 
And  prayerful,  comes  again 
The  Bridegroom  with  His  dewy  hair 
And  fragrant  as  the  lilies  are ; 
While  o'er  the  Tomb,  lo,  angels  care 
And  shew  where  ITc  has  lain ! 


The  Church  in  tlu-    Wilderness.  76 

More  plainly  still  Thy  Cliurch  may  ween 

The  truth  of  this  dim  word; 
A  little  while  siuce  all  has  been 
Bright  as  the  Morn  from  mountains  seen, 
—  Now,  dreary  shadows  come  between 

Her  children  and  their  Lord  : 

A  little  while  —  the  shadow  breaks 

Before  a  ray  of  Thine ; 
The  gloomy  Night  to  glad  Day  wakes ; 
The  lark  his  hymn  up  with  him  takes ; 
And  the  fresh  Sun  more  brilliant  makes 

Her  services  and  shrine. 

Be  trustful,  then,  0  Mother  dear 

This  pledge  to  thy  heart  press ; 
A  little  while  —  and  every  fear 
Shall,  like  a  sea-mist,  disappear 
And  the  Beloved  Himself  be  near 

Thee  in  the  Wilderness  ! 


J[ourt|)  Sunbini  after  (Caster 


LOSS  AND    GAIN. 


"  Lord,  only  one  short,  hurried  Moon 
Since  we  have  known  all ;  and  so  soon, 

Lose  we  Thy  light  again  ? 
Alas,  before  is  warmed  the  love 
Or  roused  the  strength,  that  wc  must  prove 

Ere  fit  to  join  Thy  martyr-train  ! 

^'  Wc  trusted,  until  that  sad  Day 
Wherein  the  World-prince  held  wild  sway, 

To  see  Thee  on  Thy  Throne ; 
Now,  better  taught  yet  clinging  still 
To  fancies  fond  and  worldly  will. 

O  Master,  leave  us  not  alone !" 

So  sighed,  one  time,  Thy  faithful  few;  — 
Reluctant  lest  aught  might  renew 

Some  scene  of  shuddering  gloom ; 


Loss  aiul  Gain.  77 

Or,  dazzled  by  Thine  Easter-light, 
Misjudging  in  their  dubious  sight 

The  path  of  toil  to  lead  them  home. 

So,  to  this  day,  the  heart  late-won, 
Just  taught  to  joy  at  Easter-dawn, 

Sighs  as  if  losing  Thee, 
When  its  first  raptured  feelings  fade ; 
And  back  again — now  Sun,  now  shade  — 

Comes  Earth-life's  stern  reality ! 

True,  it  has  gone  in  mourning  weed  — 
True,  it  has  known  Thee  risen  indeed ; 

But  a  dim  mystery 
Still  veils  the  sense  that  would  pierce  higher, 
And  waits  for  Pentecostal  fire 

Or  to  consume,  or  purify. 

Thou  work'st  by  an  all-perfect  plan  ; 
Twas  not  enough  for  sinful  Man 

To  be  redeemed,  alone, 
But  to  be  fit  for  Heaven,  beside 
And  flame  baptized  and  sanctified. 

Here,  ev'n  on  Earth,  be  all  Thine  own ! 


78  F(tnrth  Sunday  after  Eadcr. 

Therefore,  the  gracious  answer  came, 
(To  every  Christian  heart  the  same 

And  kind  as  we  are  weak) 
"  My  servants !  my  sharp  task  is  done ; 
Your  phices  that  my  Cross  has  won 

For  you  in  Heaven,  yourselves  must  seek. 

"  I  go  those  places  to  prepare : 

Ye  gain  them  but  by  fast  and  prayer. 

By  work  and  vigil,  here; 
And  lest  your  nature,  all  too  frail 
For  such  high  aim,  at  last  might  fail, 

I  send  thence  a  new  Comforter !" 

Loud  !  thanks  for  that  sweet,  gentle  tone 
AVhosc  music,  if  else  all  alone, 

Keeps  us  glad  company, 
And  softens,  if  it  cannot  solve. 
The  doubt  some  dreary  days  evolve, 

How  we  can  gain  by  losing  Thee ! 


Jfiftlj  ^uiibair  after  6^$ttr, 


T[IE  PRIXCEDOM  OF  ISRAEL. 


Bright  clouds  and  softest  showers  — 

Low  sounds  of  fragrant  rain 
Whose  drops,  the  Angels  of  the  Flowers 

Scent,  as  descends  the  glittering  train  — 
Ye  fitly  mark  the  gracious  Day  [stay ! 

When  the  Church  reads,  how  long  God's  heavenly  dews  can 

Not,  for  the  broken  vows. 

Oft  pledged,  forgotten  still ; 
Not,  for  the  idol-fire  that  glows 

Upon  each  lonely,  tree-crowned  hill ; 
Doth  lie  forsake  His  Israel 
For  whom  in  morning-mist,  the  wondrous  manna  fell ! 

The  wild  again  shall  bloom. 

As  erst  the  prophet  sang ; 

And,  mid  the  vinc-lcavcs'  deepening  gloom 
to 


80  Ftfth  Sniukttj  after  Easter. 

The  blushing  fruit  shall  clustering  hang: 
Ev'n  Noon-tide  glows  with  tempered  light, 
For  burning  Day  still  drinks  the  chalice  of  the  Night, 

Though  Horeb  flows  no  more 

Yet,  mid  the  desert-sand 
Where  Sorek's  ripples  seek  the  shore, 

Beneath  the  grace  that  Philip's  hand 
On  the  bright  element  bestows, 
If  not  the  Ethiop's  skin,  his  soul  less  dusky  grows ! 

Then,  promised  gifts  begun 

On  Meroe  to  gleam ; 
And  Israel's  light,  dark  Sheba's  son 

Saw  brighten  to  a  purer  beam ; 
While,  too,  Samaria's  sorcerer, 
Touched  by  Apostles'  hands,  learned  what  his  foul  rites  were. 

Then,  from  the  sombre  Past, 

Intoned  a  Voice  fulfilled  :  — 
"  One  day,  and  eager  crowds  shall  haste, 
On  Israel's  Hope  their  own  to  build ; 
Ten  men,  the  long-scorned  Jew  shall  see 
Seizing  his  skirt  and  glad,  with  him  to  company !" 


Thr   Printxdom   of  Ismd.  HI 

Is  this  so  marvellous, 

0,  wise  man  of  the  Earth  ? 
—  That  God  should  not  be  like  to  us 

Whose  minds  are  changing  from  our  birth, 
Who  one  day  love  what  next  we  hate,  — 
False  as  the  fitful  breeze,  wayward  as  misnamed  Fate  ? 

But  He  is  ever  One ; 

Unchangeable,  His  ways : 
From  Ilis  star-lighted,  silent  throne 

One  glance,  Eternity  surveys ; 
No  faded  Past  or  Future  dim 
Unrolls  its  page,  but  all  is  Present  aye  for  Him ! 

Therefore  the  Princedom  high, 

Once  given  to  Israel, 
Survives  his  sad  Captivity 

That  fleeting  records  tell ; 
—  'Tis  but  his  own  reluctant  will 
That  leaves  his  Land  a  waste,  his  Home  deserted  still ! 


unban  ;ifttr  Slsrtnsion. 


THE  ACOLYTES. 


With  Thee  in  life  I  —  Thine  eye  benign  upon  us,  — 
Thy  gentle  hand,  throughout  the  slippery  way,  — 

Thy  voice,  when  eager  foes  had  else  undone  us 
Or  perils  worn,  to  turn  them  from  their  prey 
And  guard  us  still  unharmed  amid  the  strife :  -— 
Keep  us  with  Thee  in  Life ! 

With  Thee  in  heart !  —  thus  pure  and  calm  and  lowly, 
To  watch  Thee  through  Thy  human  pilgrimage ; 

To  trace  Thee  from  Thy  Starlit  cradle  holy, 
Thro'  tempted  youth  and  sinless  Manhood's  age, 
To  the  last,  incommunicable  part :  — 

Keep  us  with  Thee  in  Heart ! 

With  Thee  in  death !  —  Life's  feverish  pulses  over, 
Stilled  in  the  darkness  of  our  agony ; 

82 


The  Acolt/frs.  H-S 

Tlien,  as  of  old,  0 !  our  lost  souls'  best  Lover, 
In  the  dim  Garden  came  to  comfort  Thee 
An  Angel- watcher  of  Thy  fainting  breath  — 
So  strengthen  us  in  Death  ! 

And  when  that  Hour  is  past,  though  angel-bidden 

We  timid  linger  near  Thy  golden  gate, 
Wilt  Thou  be  there  in  Whom  our  hope  was  hidden 

To  take  within  the  souls  that  trembling  wait  ? 

—  Then,  blest  beyond  all  glorious  presage  given, 
Keep  us  with  Thee  in  Heaven ! 


a&lj)itsunb;in. 


THE  NEW  SINAI. 


Ye,  who  would  walk  in  white  one  Day 
Before  the  Lamb,  now  put  your  white  robes  on ; 

And,  since  so  far  we  bear  to  stray 
From  habits,  hallowed  in  the  times  by-gone, 
And  vestiaries  hold  no  more 
The  garments  the  new-baptized  wore,  — 
Wear  them  at  least  upon  your  heart : 
Unspotted,  pure  in  every  part 
And  fit,  as  aught  of  ours  can  claim, 
To  bear  and  to  reflect  the  Pentecostal  flame  I 

For  so,  when  long,  long  years  ago 
This  Day  grew  pale  at  Sinai's  awful  glare 

And  darkness  visible  below 
While  ghostly  trumpets  swelled  and  echoed  there- 

Through  all  the  wandering  Host  redeemed, 

An  unstained  vesture  briglitly  gleamed  ; 

84 


The  New  Sinai  85 

Proving,  thus  far,  obedience 
To  free  themselves  from  stains  of  sense 
And  wilful  act,  ere  they  drew  nigh 
To  gaze  on  tokens  of  their  Maker's  purity ! 

'Tis  true,  those  tokens  come  no  more, 
Mid  gloom  and  brilliance  struggling,  to  our  sight; 

Nor  aching  eyes,  fain  to  explore. 
Find  darkness  only  in  th'  excessive  light ; 

Nor  rushing  winds  at  first  swell  high, 

Then  into  fearful  silence  sigh ; 

While  milder,  lambent  flames  illume 

Pale  faces  in  an  upper  room  :  — 

But  not  less  earnest  nor  less  true. 
The  still,  small  signs  that  pledge  God's  own  descent  anew! 

And  if  no  visible  crowns  of  fire 
Mark  the  Elect ;  yet  viewless  still  they  dwell 

Within  our  hearts  and  there  inspire 
A  power  and  peace,  no  gift  of  tongues  could  tell ; 
The  marvels  that  shone  on  the  path 
And  won  the  way  of  earlier  Faith, 
Have  ceased  ;  but  o'er  the  sin-sick  soul 
Our  faith  still  wields  as  strong  control ; 


^0  Whitsundmj. 

And,  just  as  sure  as  erst,  may  men 
Take  knowledge  of  our  walk  who  have  with  Jesus  been 

And  though  not  now,  mid  light  intense 
And  mighty  sound  or  on  soft  dove-like  wings, 

The  S  PiRiT  comes,  yet  Christian  penitence 
As  real  finds  His  wondrous  visitings ; 
And,  as  of  old  declared.  His  grace 
Waits  for  us  in  the  Holy  place 
(The  Church)  where  God  His  name  has  set. 
Choosing  there  chiefly  to  be  met, 
And  promising  each  worshipper 
In  sacramental  signs  to  send  the  Comforter ! 

Would  you,  then,  unconsumed  abide 
That  Real  Presence,  not  less  grieved  and  lost 

By  sin  of  ours  at  Whitsuntide 
Than  of  the  Tribes  or  Twelve  at  Pentecost  ? 

—  Leave  all  your  frailties  far  behind: 

Only  your  love  and  sorrow  find 

Forbearance  in  His  mercy's  store, 

Who  judges  tenderly  the  poor, 
Who  makes  all  wild  heart-tlirobbings  cease 
And  teaches  those  He  loves,  the  secret  of  His  Pence! 


©rinitg  Sunb;i]T 


EIJEX  AND    GETIISEJ/AXE. 


Dark,  formless,  void,  was  the  unregioned  space; 
No  wave  to  stamp,  no  shore  to  wear  a  trace; 
Till,  moving  o'er  the  dreary  waters'  face, 

God's  Spirit  waked  the  echo  of  His  Light. 

Then,  with  that  pulse.  Time's  Ocean  dim  grew  bright 

And  rolling  worlds  began  their  mystic  flight ! 

Then  sprang,  each  instant,  up  some  beauty  new; 

Each  Day  declining  lingered  still  to  view 

Some  just-born  grace  —  more  gracious  for  the  dew 

That  pensive  Night  shed  o'er  each  lineament  : 

From  light  and  shade  and  scents  and  music  blent 

Harmoniously,  a  Heavenward  worship  went. 
81 


^°  Trinittj   Sunday. 

With  f^uch  fair  scene,  the  Earth  Man's  vision  blest 
(The  wondrous  Week  not  yet  quite  sunk  in  rest) 
What  time  —  God's  image  outwardly  imprest, 

Within,  a  living  Soul  by  God's  own  breath, 

And  monarch  of  all  moving  things  beneath, 

He  trod  at  first  Euphrates'  flowery  heath. 

Then  came  an  hour  of  bitter  change  for  all. 

The  Angels  wept  (could  they  be  sad)  Man's  Fall; 

Earth,  cursed  for  him,  wore  now  a  dreary  pall ; 

Her  loveliest  flowers  that  wooed  his  touch  before. 
Now  thorns,  to  guard  them  from  his  dalliance,  bore  - 
Her  fruits  demand  his  sweat  and  tears,  and  more! 

If  dark  the  Earth,  his  heart  was  yet  more  drear. 
Within,  Lust,  Falsehood,  Shame,  Remorse,  and  Fear 
Nought  but  a  promise  dim,  God  left  to  cheer 

His  sinking  soul  that,  when  his  sand  was  run 
And  his  worn  frame  a  resting-place  had  won 
In  kindred  dust,  his  punishment  wah^  done! 


Eden  and  Gcthscmane.  89 

Yet  not  unmixed  with  pangs  this  pledge  he  bears ; 
For  to  his  gaze,  made  prescient  through  long  years, 
A  bloodstained  mount  with  Crosses  three  appears : 

One  —  true  type  of  the  Race,  —  hangs  hopeless  there; 
Another's  pale  lips  just  can  move  in  prayer 

—  That  He  may  save.  One  deigns  their  woe  to  share  I 

Hence  came  it  that  from  patriarchal  lore 
The  mystic  sign,  the  Cross,  its  meaning  wore 
That  Egypt  gives  it  —  Endless  life  in  store!  ^ 

And  hence,  for  ages.  Heaven-taught  faith  relied 
On  symbols  that  the  coming  Truth  did  hide : 

—  Each  priesi^slain  Lamb  showed  forth  the  Crucified! 

Then,  when  the  mystery  of  Sin  was  done 

And  patient  Faith  its  lingering  pledge  had  won, 

A  new  Creation  on  the  Earth  begun : 

For,  woman-born.  Thou  cam'st  in  human  guise 

—  With  Woman's  softness,  Man's  infirmities  — 
To  win  back  our  first  Father's  Paradise. 


90  Trinity  ^undo}/. 

In  every  trait,  Thou  fought'st  his  conflict  o'er: 
And,  what  no  living  Soul  could  do  before, 
Thy  quickening  Spirit  did  achieve  and  more ! 

So,  in  a  Garden,  Thou  didst  strive  anew, 
(Like  where  the  fatal  tree  of  Knowledge  grew) 
But  pluck'dst  the  tree  of  Life,  Redeemer,  too ! 

We  may  not  follow  farther  on  the  path 

(Too  weak  our  wishes  or  too  faint  our  faith) 

That  led  Thee  through  the  thronging  realms  of  Death 

To  visit  and  console  th'  expectant  band 

Of  souls  that  erst,  in  many  a  distant  land, 

Thro'  veils  and  shadows,  knew  and  loved-  Thy  hand. 

The  wondrous  plan  was  still  not  all  complete. 
To  make  us  for  the  purchased  glory  meet. 
We,  too,  must  pluck  tlie  tree  of  Life  and  cat  I 

Therefore,  at  Pentecost,  in  fire  came  down 
The  Spirit  with  His  grace  the  Work  to  crown 
And  help  the  hearts  lie  wants  to  make  His  own. 


Eden  and  Gdhxi  inane.  91 

Then  were  fulfilled  strange,  ancient  types  and  dim ;  — 
The  fire  that  burnt  the  Victim's  quivering  limb 
And  Heavenward  bore  it,  but  prefigured  Ilira ; 

The  guiding  Dove  sent  from  the  lonely  Ark,  — 

The  auguries  that,  through  world-ages  dark, 

Men  thought  in  wayward  flight  of  birds,  to  mark:  — 

These  all  were  glimpses  of  Thy  coming,  Lord  ; 
While  reverent  hearts,  but  unread  in  Thy  Word, 
The  Shadow  for  the  Substance  oft  adored. 

Ah!  better  this  than  the  cold  clime  and  drear, 
In  which  they  dwell  who  will  not  own  Thee  here 
But  scorn  Thee  in  half-hardihood,  half-fear. 

Let  no  such  phantasms,  Loud,  our  souls  benight; 
But  let  us,  walking  in  Thy  Gospel-light, 
Confess  Thee  One  in  Truth  and  Love  and  Might; 

And,  holding  by  Thy  Church's  teaching  clear 
E'er  since  that  upper  chamber  shook  with  fear, 
Trace  how  Thy  Three-fold  energies  appear ! 


Oi  Trinity  Sunday. 

Therefore,  to-day,  we  keep  the  Festival 
Whereto  bright  Pentecost  and  Easter  call ; 
And,  though  no  human  thought  may  scale  it  all, 

We,  reverent,  adore  the  Mystery 

Of  Triune  Being  and  the  Eternal  see 

Okeator,  Saviour,  Comforter,  in  Thee! 


^  And  not  Egypt  only,  but  the  Chosen  Race  itself.  It  is  agreed  that 
the  saving  mark  seen  in  the  vi.<ion  of  the  Prophet  (Kzek.  ix.  4.)  was  the 
sacred  TtiH,— a  letter  that,  in  the  prae-Ezraic  chirography  of  the  Hebrews, 
was  itself  a  Cross. 


J'irst  f  unliai)  aftn*  (trinitj, 


SPIRIT-  VISITINGS. 


Low  tones  that  ou  the  Night-wind's  sigh 
So  faintly  through  the  casement  creep, 

Yet  fearfully  distinct  and  nigh 
For  wakeful  care  or  dreamless  sleep,  — 

Are  ye  but  fancies  of  the  brain, 

Or  music  of  a  Spirit-train  ?  — 

Sometimes,  so  clear,  so  known  as  well 
(Those  Voices  of  long-parted  Friends) 

As  if  those  Friends  had  come  to  tell 
The  secrets  that  the  Tomb  defends ; 

And  then  again,  so  strange  and  sweet 

As  nought  on  Earth  our  ears  could  meet ! 

And  sometimes,  too,  when  all  is  still 

And  slumber  wraps  the  house  around, 

Come  Shapes  of  those  who  used  to  fill 
93 


94  First   Snn(l(iti  lifter    Trlutty. 

With  light  and  love,  the  Homestead's  bound ; 
—  Silent,  with  earnest-gleaming  eyes 
That  half  light  up  Death's  mysteries ! 

Float  these  from  the  dim,  shadowy  realm 
That  overlooks  the  mournful  Past, 

To  warn  us  of  the  woes  that  whelm 

Souls  (like  the  Rich  man's)  lost  at  last? — 

Or  grow  they  but  from  hues  that  lie, 

Self-blending,  in  our  memory? 

Ah  I  none  can  tell ;  for  since  the  day 
Man,  serpent-led,  preferred  to  hruyw 

More  than  in  Paradise  to  stay, — 
Less  sapient  all  our  senses  grow, 

And  more  confined  and  earthlier, 

The  orbit  of  our  knowledge-sphere. 

God,  seen  at  no  time,  on  Ilis  Throne 
Sits,  dark  with  an  excessive  light ; 

His  angels,  elder  errands  done, 

Wing  now  to  Earth  no  visible  flight 

Nor  help  t'  unwrap  from  its  dim  veil 

The  grey  Past  or  the  Future  pale. 


Sjnrit-  Visiiinf/s.  95 

Only  His  Word  is  with  us  yet, 

A  Witness  and  a  Teacher  true ; 
Only  His  Church  o'er  us  is  set, 

With  light  our  dark  souls  to  imbue 
And  with  His  Sacraments'  avail, 
To  pledge  the  cure  of  natures  frail. 

Tf  these  serve  not,  then  all  in  vain 
Will  ghostlier  warnings  be  and  dread ; 

No  pale  Face  or  sad  Voice  again. 

Returning  with  the  white-clothed  Dead, 

No  midnight  Spirit-visitings, 

Will  break  the  chain,  Earth  o'er  us  flings ! 


^uonb  1^ unban  after  Crinitjj. 


TUB  THREE  PICTURES. 


Three  changing  Pictures  in  the  glass 

Of  God's  dim  Providence! 
Three  Figures,  beckoning  as  they  pass, 
Ere  melting  in  the  vapory  mass 
That  hides,  more  than  with  triple  brass, 

Time's  march  from  our  frail  sense ! 

Not  ours,  to  know  the  full  extent 

Of  such  portentous  Forms; 
We  can  but  watch  in  wonderment 
The  awful  brilliance  that,  unspent, 
(Though  age  to  age  a  veil  has  lent) 

Still  all  the  foreground  warms. 

We  can  but  gaze,  now,  where  the  glow 

Of  the  descending  Sun 
Leaves  pleasant  shadows,  cool  and  low, 
There  where  young  trees  green  branches  throw ; 
While  yonder,  through  the  mist,  God's  1>ow 

Makes  sky  and  earth  but  one! 


Tlic    Three  Pictures.  07 

Ev'n  as  we  look,  a  change  comes  o'er 

That  so  delicious  scene ; 
The  irised  lines  that,  just  before, 
Both  Heaven's  arch  and  the  rain-drops  wore, 
Eade,  and  a  twilight  stern  and  hoar 

Unfolds  its  dreary  screen ! 

Deeper  and  deeper  falls  the  Night ; 

Till  the  lone  Worshipper  — 
Who  sank  in  slumber  'neath  the  light 
Of  countless  stars  that  pledged  both  Might 
And  Love,  —  wakes  shuddering,  in  affright, 

At  the  strange  darkness  there. 

Once  more  the  Canvass  weird  outpours 

Fresh  rays ;  —  long  since,  the  Sun 
Has  heard  the  first  call  of  tlio  flowers 
And  visits  now  their  mid-day  bowers ; 
While,  round,  the  dark-haired  Evening-hours 

His  chariot  wait  upon ! 

Who  on  the  house-top  lingering  kneels, 

As  that  great  sheet  unrolls? 
While  half-taught  Fnith  tlie  warrant  steals 


98  .SVro??(/  Svn(hn/  offer    Trinity 

From  what  the  Vision  plain  reveals 
And  what  the  possible  Dream  conceals 

—  God's  Ark  for  human  souls. 

If,  fainter  than  to  Patriarch's  gaze 

Or  to  Apostle's  eye, 
Those  visions  loom  in  our  late  da^^s ; 
At  least  for  us  a  lustre  plays 
(Lit  up  from  emblems  of  (iOd's  ways) 

Their  earlier  times  deny. 

The  Rain-bow  blazons  in  the  cloud 
Our  Baptism's  covenant ; 

The  Mount,  where  Abram  darkly  bowed, 

Is  Calvary  where  the  Saviour  stood ; 

The  Church  holds  still  the  mystic  Shroud  - 
Room  there  for  all,  to  crant ! 

Such  symbols  she  would  have  us  store, 

—  Our  Mother,  tender,  true ; 
Therefore,  each  day,  she  gleans  them  o'er, 
Repeating  from  her  elder  lore 

And  tripling  for  our  sakes  (and  more) 
Their  ancient  strenitth,  anew ! 


irb  ^imbajj  afttr  Criiiitir 


THE  PILGRIMS  IN  EGYPT. 


As  in  some  Day  whose  morniug  wakes 
Mid  sullen  clouds  or  angry  showers ; 
But,  older  grown,  at  length  it  breaks 
The  curtain  of  its  early  hours 
And,  looking  from  its  throne  of  light, 
Gilds  all  its  Western  pathway  bright 
—  Throughout  obeying  laws,  the  great  Creator  makes 

So  doth  Thy  Church,  0  Loud,  obey 

The  veiled  plans  Thyself  hast  laid ; 
As  well  when,  on  a  troubled  Day, 

Ten  brethren-hands  were  scarcely  staid 
From  brother's  blood  as  when,  subdued, 
Before  their  Victim,  late,  they  stood, 
More  sorrowful  than  he,  in  anxious  guilt  to  pray. 

Thou  did'st  o'crrule  their  anger  rude, 

When  changeful  Reuben's  kindlier  aim 
99 


100  Third   Snuibiii  aftvr    Tn'nili/. 

And  31idiaii's  inerchaiit-pilgrim  brood, 
As  agents  in  Thy  purpose,  came ; 
The  sad  old  man's  bereaved  sigh 
Thou  sufferedst,  for  the  time  was  nigh 
When  near  his  son,  hnig  lost  and  loving,  Israel  stood  I 

We  solve  not  all  Thy  deep  intent : 
We  see  a  mighty  Empire  saved, 

And  Thine  elect  Race  strangely  sent 
To  bondage,  that  there  might  be  graved 
For  the  whole  world,  the  wondrous  proof 
Of  Love  and  Power  in  their  behoof. 
While  sternest  traits  of  wrath  and  softest  gleams  arc  blent  I 

We  see  Thy  promise  there  made  true, 
TJnhastened  for  long  suffering  years : 

So,  later,  when  from  a  wild  crew 
A  Child,  the  Virgin-mother  bears 
To  the  same  land,  Thy  time  to  bide  — 
Not  less  Thy  pledge  is  verified 
And  out  of  Egypt.  Thou  did'st  bring  Thine  own  Son,  too! 

And  when  this  exiled  Son  (more  high 
Than  .loscjdO  not  om-  realm  or  race 


The  PUijrinLS  in  Egypt.  101 

But  mankind,  in  His  ministry, 

Should  save  and  keep  with  Heavenly  grace  — 
Dark  storms  of  woe  and  violence 
Scattered  the  precious  seedlings,  whence 
The  Christian  harvest  springs  around  us,  far  and  nigh. 

So,  when  the  days  of  peril  come 
Upon  the  Church,  as  long  foretold, 

(Perhaps  now  here,  amid  our  gloom 

Of  zeal  deceived  and  love  grown  cold)  — 
Not  less  we  deem,  that  promised  light 
Will  gild  her  Western  pathway  bright 
And  with  calm,  clearest  ray  her  latest  houi's,  illume ! 


J'oiirtlj  ^uubau  ;ifttr  Crinitg 


THE  SLEEP-  WALKERS. 


0,  SOREST  symptom  of  disease 

When  sick-men  know  it  not ! 

O,  words,  the  warmest  hearts  to  freeze : 
"  Ilis  own  sin  he  forgot !" 

Yet  word  and  symptom  oft  we  meet 
In  our  world-pilgrimage ; 

Forgetfulness  and  self-deceit 
Crowd  ev'n  a  hermitage. 

Like  men  who  walk  forth  in  their  sleep, 
Pursuing  some  fond  dream, 

Unreasoned  if  they  smile  or  weep  — 
Must  we,  poor  wanderers,  seem 

To  friendly  Spirit-ministers 

Who  watch  in  that  high  sphere. 

Where  every  faintest  breath  that  stii'S 

Our  thoughtless  bosom  here, 
102 


The  SUrp- Walkers.  103 

Goes  widening  on  ;  —  with  each  new  ray, 

A  changeless  verdict  shown 
For  God  to  read  —  for  us,  one  day. 

To  tremble  as  we  own  ! 

If  one,  more  wakeful  than  the  rest 
In  his  sleep-walking,  seems: 
Not  on  himself  he  tries  the  test, 
But  on  his  fellows'  dreams. 

Not  thankful  for  a  little  light 

To  lead  him  calmly  home, 
He  but  employs  his  feeble  sight 

To  mark  how  others  roam. 

Blind  leaders  of  the  blind!  — how  true 

His  sentence.  Who  knew  all 
And  loved  all  even  as  He  knew ! 

—  What  wonder  if  we  fall? 

Nought  but  a  spirit  like  Thine  own, 

Redeemer!  —  love,  like  Thine 
—  To  whisper  oft,  with  pitying  tone, 

"^ly  brother's  fall  is  mine"  — 


104  Fourth  StDulny  after    Trinity. 

Can  hold  our  frailty  and  convert 

Our  dimness  into  Day, 
"Where  we  may  see  our  true  desert, 

Our  thankless,  devious  way ; 

Where  wc  may  sec  the  blind  and  lame 
Cared  for  and  cured  by  Thee, 

—  Love-gifts  for  all  in  want  or  shame, 

All,  but  the  Pharisee! 

Lord,  for  the  highest  of  these  gifts, 
Help  us,  each  hour,  to  pray, 

—  The  Charity  that,  mild,  cv'n  lifts 

Harsh  brethren  on  their  way; 

That  beareth  all  things  and  forbears 

To  judge  another's  sin ; 
And,  shrinking  in  itself,  still  hears 

A  gentle  voice  within : 

"  My  Servant !  thine  own  sickness  learn ; 

Seek  cure  before  the  Even  : 
Be  just,  and  thou  shalt  justice  earn  ; 

For/xivc  and  ]>o  forgiven  !" 


<Si 


^uiibitn  after  Crinitn 


TI/E  FISHERIS. 


"  All  night  was  cast  the  weary  net 
In  vain ;  for,  empty,  lightly  yet 

Its  mesh  obeys  the  hand : 
And  sickened  hope  and  toil  contend 
Our  strength  and  courage,  both,  to  bend 

And  make  us  yearn  for  land  : 

'•  Yet,  at  Thy  word,  we  will  again 
Launch  out  the  net  upon  the  main  :"  — 

So  did  the  Fisher  speak : 
So  speaks  the  Church  in  mournful  tone ; 
And,  from  each  praying  heart  alone, 

So  does  its  grief  outbreak : 

In  twilight  dim,  at  midnight  stiU, 
In  gloomy  vale,  'ncath  cloud-cajiped  hill, 
Under  Thy  Temple-shade,— 

105 


106  Fifth   Sniulay  after    Trinitij. 

Have  been  poured  out,  with  fainting  breath, 
Thoughts  seeking  Thee,  and  Prayer  and  Faith 
Fast  by  Thine  altar  laid. 

In  the  pure  Deep  of  Thine  o^vn  word 

—  O'er  whose  calm  face  might  best  be  heard 

Whispers  of  comfort  nigh  — 
Our  bark  hath  been  ;  its  weary  road, 
Our  vows,  like  nets,  cast  out  abroad, 

Have  surely  met  Thine  eye. 

Yet,  barren  all,  our  net  doth  prove 
(Though  woven  cords  of  truest  love) 

No  weight  of  new-felt  grace : 
And  mid  the  thick  desponding  gloom. 
No  morning-light  breaks  on  our  home, 

No  ray  reveals  Thy  f^ice  : 

Nor  eddying  wave  that  hurries  past 

—  Laden  with  cares,  waked  by  Life's  blast  — 

(Fit  emblem  this,  and  wise) 
Yet  lingering  long  enough  to  show. 
Though  turbid,  that  there  gleams  below 

Tlic  very  prey  wo  prize. 


The  Fishrrif.  107 

All  night  we  toil ;  when,  when,  0  (jJod, 
Shall  we  take  up  our  lightsome  load 

For  which  we  gladly  bend  ? 
When  shall  some  lonely,  earnest  prayer, 
Dove-like  sent  forth,  returning  bear 

Blessings  that  Thou  dost  send  ? 

In  Thine  own  time!  —  still  will  we  spread, 
All  darkling  though  it  be  and  dread, 

Our  prayers  before  Thy  shrine ; 
Breathing  but  this,  O  Lord,  to  Thee 
—  Where'er  Thy  holy  steps  we  see, 

To  follow  and  be  Thine ! 


s^ 


idlj  §nnb;ii]  after  (iiirinitiT, 


NATURE  AND    R FA' ELATION. 


Cold  falls  the  snow  on  some  November  day ; 

Chill  blows  the  breeze  that  clears  the  Morning's  way 

But  both,  in  kindness  sent :  — 
One  wraps  from  Winter's  harm  the  buried  seeds ; 
The  other  scatters  the  night-breath  of  weeds, 

And  airy  poisons  thus  grow  innocent ! 

]5ut  chiller,  colder  than  or  wind  or  snow, 
Their  maxims  sad,  who  still  refuse  to  know 

God,  by  His  own-told  name 
And,  captivated  in  a  sensuous  maze, 
Trace  only  forms  that  blend  in  evcning-liaze 

Or  worship  at  some  Ghcbor  moniing-lhvnic ! 

Created  things  they  see  —  not  Who  creates : 
An  order,  stern  in  beauty  and  tliat  dates 
IJirth  from  no  Allien  or  where: 


Nature  and  Revelation.  loM 

A  Nature,  ever-bearing,  never  born; 

An  era  from  some  self-made  cycle  torn ;  — 

Such  shadows,  all  they  own  as  God-like,  are. 

No  love  to  wake,  no  prayer  to  warm  their  hearts ; 
No  hope  to  linger  when  all  else  departs; 

No  gleam  beyond  the  grave ; 
—  More  worth,  the  superstitions  wild  that  twine 
Around  the  veiled  Disposer's  Grecian  shrine  ^ 

And  comfort  trusting  souls  they  ftxil  to  save. 

Strange,  as  the  world  grows  older,  that  more  wise 
It  grows  not;  but,  as  years  successive  rise. 

Rash  spirits  after  spirits  try 
To  follow  roads  none  ever  safely  trod 
And,  building  altars  to  an  Unknown  God, 

Adore  in  blindness  to  'scape  mystery! 

'Tis  not  enough,  at  Nature's  fane  to  dream ; 
'Tis  not  enough,  a  God  exists  to  deem ; 

lie  is  and  He  rewards : 
And  to  us,  if  we  will  or  not,  one  Day 
For  every  act  and  thought,  for  work  or  play, 

Ilis  judgment  just  a  verdict  sure,  accords. 


110  Sixth  JSnmhty   after    Trinity. 

Another  clime  is  round  that  Judgment-seat. 
We,  pilgrims,  hasten  on,  its  breath  to  meet, 

Like  leaves  upon  tlie  blast 
—  Yet  not  the  breath  of  Eden,  nor  the  yield 
Of  flowers  Elysian  in  sweet  Enna's  field. 

Nor  odors  that  the  vines  of  Carmel  cast ! 

None  may  presume  to  go  there  unafraid 

Save  Children ;  (not  as  Heathen  Wise-ones  said, 

But  those)  who  die  to  sin 
And,  buried  in  the  briglit,  baptismal  wave, 
Their  portion  with  th'  Incarnate  Founder  have 

And  rise,  a  share  in  His  Sonship  to  win ! 


7  Dixposer  is  the  English  equivalent  for  the  Name  given  by  the  Greeks 
to  the  Supreme. 

^  Sec  Acts  xvii.  28.  The  commentators  gcDcrally  Iiave  referred  tliis  to 
Aratus,  the  countryman  of  S.  Paul.  They  should  have  included  Musaeus 
and  Pindar;  and  as  the  Greek  term  (Poet,  or  Maker)  was  not  confined  to 
those  who  wrote  in  metre,  and  certainly  not  to  those  only  whose  surviving 
works  are  rhythmical,  there  is  room  also  for  J'lato  and  Pythagoras. 


Stbnitlj  Swnbinr  afttr  Crinitn, 


THE   WILDERNESS. 


0,  aid  me,  Father,  as  I  strive 
Out  from  the  world  to  come ; 

And  in  the  Wilderness,  0,  give 

Strength  that  may  lead  me  home. 

Long  wandering,  I  have  sought  Thy  face 

And,  thirsting,  panted  for  Thy  grace 

—  Some  fresh  reviving  ray  — 
To  guide  me  o'er  each  rugged  steep 
And  thorny  vale,  that  empire  keep 

Across  my  weary  way ! 

Thy  footsteps  sometimes,  still,  I  see ; 

And,  o'er  the  cool  night  air. 
Low,  distant  voices  come  from  Thee 

—  A  promise  unto  prayer: 

111 


112  tSercnfli    Smuhiij  after   Trinity/. 

But  long  the  way  and  strong  the  toil, 
And  earnest  foes  would  yet  beguile 

The  Pilgrim  from  his  road; 
While,  far,  full  many  a  tempting  scene 
Uprises  on  the  view  between 

The  Wanderer  and  his  God! 

What  wonder,  then,  if  languid  there 

T  cling  unto  the  Earth ; 
Or  turn  aside,  in  fierce  despair. 

To  scenes  of  reckless  mirth? 
What  wonder  then  if,  losing  Thee, 
Naught  mid  the  mist  and  dews  I  sec 

But  dark,  portentous  Forms ; 
Or,  glittering  through  the  earth-born  haze, 
Upon  some  fiery  breath  I  gaze. 

That  lightens  not  nor  warms? 

By  all  the  hopes  that  ever  sprung 
From  ray  lone  heart  to  Thee ; 

By  all  the  vows,  o'er  which  were  flung 
Faith's  robes  of  purity ; 

By  every  prayer  that  inly  strove, 

And  every  grief  that  kindly  wove 


The    Wilderness.  11, 

Some  Hca VCD -descended  chain ;  — 
I  cling  to  Thee  Who  wert  their  guide, 
The  Tremblers  near  the  swelling  tide, 

—  The  Murmurers  on  the  plain. 

0,  teach  me,  when  I  follow  Thee, 

If  fainting  by  the  way, 
Through  all,  with  patient  hope,  to  see 

Thyself  my  certain  stay: 
And,  gathering  up  each  broken  prayer 
And  wasted  vow,  assemble  there 

(As  in  the  Wild  of  old) 
A  feast  that  may  the  soul  renew 
And  fragments  on  the  way  to  strew, 

When  Love  is  growing  cold  ! 


^igljt^  Siinbitij  after  ^rinitg. 


THE  PASSAGE  OF  THE  RED  SEA. 


"  Why  stand  ye  here  and  gaze 

Upon  that  sullen  Sea  ? 
Where  the  early  sun-beam  plays 
As  brightly  as  in  other  days, 
Unmarked  by  any  shuddering  phase 
Like  that  which,  yester-eve,  corpse-strewed  the  coral  lea. 

"  Say,  do  ye  love  to  mark 

His  hand  that  surely  led 
O'er  a  wilder  sea,  the  Ark ; 
And,  in  a  pilgrimage  as  dark, 
Lone  Jacob,  guided  safe  and  stark, 
With  light  of  Angel-dreams  round  his  stone-pillowed  head  V 

"  Or  do  ye,  grateful,  dwell 

(With  hearts  to  change  no  more) 

On  the  wonders  that  so  well 
114 


The  Pdssage  of  the  Red  Sea.  115 

Broke  worshipped  Isis'  strongest  spell ; 
While  princely  hall  and  prisoners'  cell        [store  ? 
Learned,  in  a  First-born  lost,  your  trampled  birth-right's 

"  0  Fancy,  fitful,  frail ! 

Hearts,  helpless,  frailer  still ! 

—  Lo,  beneath  your  foreheads  pale 
(More  blanched  from  every  sickening  gale) 
God  reads  the  brain-inscribed  tale 

Of  miracles  misjudged,  of  murmuring,  proud  self-will ! 

"Nine  times,  the  morning  bright 

Wakes  th'  Erythrocan  wave ; 
And,  like  melting  sea-mists'  flight. 
The  awful  vows  to-day  ye  plight, 
At  Mara  vanish  out  of  sight 
— Recalled  but  by  the  sign  of  God's  great  plan  to  save! 

"Scarce  cease  the  Angelic  crew 

For  this  their  anthem  high. 
Ere  ye  claim  a  wonder  new : 

—  I  see  the  Wild  all  white  with  dew; 
'Tis  Angels'  food  from  Heaven  for  you, 

To  win  you  from  the  chain  of  Egypt's  luxury ! 


116  Eighth  Sunday  after   Trinity. 

"  Lo !  Sinai's  lightning-glare 

Still  to  your  strained  eyes  shines ; 
Spirit-trumpets  echo  there : 
Yet  whence  is  this  procession  fair, 
"While  women's  voices  charm  the  air  ? 
—  0,  more  than  falsest  false,  ye  build  foul  Apis'  shrines ! 

"  Giver  of  prophet-ken. 

Blind  me  upon  this  strand; 
Hide,  oh !  hide  that  quaking  plain 
—  Christ's  symbol  lifted  there  in  vain  — 
And  bleaching  bones,  that  long  have  lain, 
Of  wanderers  shut  at  last  out  from  Thy  promised  Land !" 

So  sighed,  on  Edom's  shore, 
One  of  the  Pilgrim-host ; 
One  who  prophet-unction  wore 
And  read  the  Future,  sad  and  sore. 
That  all  God's  love,  proved  and  in  store, 
Could  not  redeem  —  by  men's  wild  pride  and  passion  lost ! 

I)o  we,  in  this  late  day, 

(By  emblems  led,  as  true) 
Shudder  o'er  their  thankless  way  ?  — 


The  Passaf/r  of  the  Red  Sea.  117 

Alas,  Low  our  own  hearts  betray ! 
Our  deeds  our  parentage  display ; 
We  but  build  sepulchres  for  those  our  fathers  slew ! 

Like  them,  we  tread  a  strand 

That  wrathful  tokens  strew ; 
More  than  Moses'  Baptist-hand 
lias  signed  and  sealed  us  where  we  stand ; 
While,  wider  over  sea  and  land, 
Our  lires  of  Pentecost  their  guiding  flame  renew ! 

The  Wilderness  of  Sin 

Holds  both  our  marches  slow ; 
Thirsty  pilgrims  faint  within : 
But  ah !  what  higher  meed  we  win. 
Who  drink  where  gracious  streams  begin. 
From  not  the  smitten  Rock  but  Christ's  pierced  side,  to  flow ! 

And  if  Archangels'  bread 

For  them  in  sweet  dew  fell ; 
Are  not  we  divinely  fed  ? 
Does  not  a  mystery  more  dread 
Ilalf-shrine  the  chancel  where  we  tread 
And  see,  in  symbols  meek,  a  real  Presence  dwell  ? 


118  Eighth  Sunday  after    Trinity. 

Lord  of  such  grace  aud  love, 

If  we,  by  self  beguiled. 
Shameless  o'er  vows  broken  prove,  — 
At  least  let  dread  our  spirits  move 
To  shun  their  sin  who  with  Thee  strove  — 
Who,  mid  the  Ecd  Sea  saved,  yet  perished  in  the  Wild ! 


Ilintj)  ^«nb;in  iifttr  Sirinitg. 


THE  CENSER   OF  THE  CUURCH. 


Yes  !  hold  thy  censer  'twixt  the  Dead  and  Living, 

B3'  fire  to  show  forth  Life  —  by  ashes,  Death ; 
Its  vaporous  wreaths,  still  upwards  lightly  striving, 
Are  transient  as  Man's  quickly  fleeting  breath  ; 
Yet  offered  as  God  saith, 
With  due  rite  and  firm  faith, 
His  wrath  it  stayeth  or  it  sweeteneth  ! 

Type,  thou,  of  power  more  holy  than  aught  human ! 
Foreshadowing  function  of  that  Priest  Most  High 
Who,  in  times  later,  came  (true  God,  and  true  Man, 
And  so,  to  both  in  kin  and  feeling,  nigh) 
To  stand  alone  between 
Men  dead  in  utter  sin 
And  the  avenging.  Living  Deity  ! 

Hence  is  it,  from  the  grace  of  Christ's  anointing. 

That  priestly  hands  work  in  such  wondrous  way ; 
119 


120  iVinfh    Sumhnj  after    Tn'nih/ 

And  that,  witliin  the  Church  of  His  appointing, 
Mere  outward  forms  exert  such  latent  sway  ; 

They  do  but  Him  reflect, 

They  borrow  from  His  act 
The  potency,  all  things  create  obey. 

Like  Israel  in  the  Wilderness  of  Paran, 

The  Church  counts  all  her  cloud  and  sea  baptise ; 
While  chosen  Ones,  called,  separate,  like  Aaron, 
The  sinners  watch,  who  their  own  souls  despise. 
And  holy  vessels  bear, 
With  incense  of  fond  prayer. 
To  make  atonement  as  Sin's  plague-spots  rise  ! 

Yet,  spite  the  watch  o'er  the  mixed  congregation, 

Beneath  His  eye  that  sees  without,  within, 
(Whose  love  or  wrath  claims  now  no  race  nor  nntion) 
Pride  will  break  forth  and  judgment  follow  sin  ; 
And,  though  no  visible  scourge 
The  Church's  ranks  may  purge. 
A  death  as  hopeless  doth  its  victims  win. 

Woe  to  those  Victims  !  but  their  fate  how  awful 

Whose  hearts,  like  Korah's.  scorn  an  hunilde  place  ; 


The  Censer  of  the  Church.  ll>l 

And,  deeming  aught  above  their  sphere,  unlawful, 
Seek  for  their  noisy  gifts  a  wider  space : 
These  meet  no  common  end, 
Who  know  not  how  to  blend 
Their  priestly  power  with  its  meek,  sweetest  grace ! 

For  others,  too,  there  waits  as  deep  perdition 

— The  Dathans  who  Christ's  'stablished  order  slight— 
And  warrant  to  themselves  a  full  commission 
In  each  distempered  Voice  or  wandering  Light : 
They  see  Damascus  hold 
The  Apostle  keen  and  bold. 
But  not  the  trembling  Saint  and  dazzled  sight ! 

But  deepest,  saddest,  is  the  gloom  unending 

Of  those  who  have,  with  Balaam,  earlier  worn 

An  unction  from  on  high ;  till,  one  day  bending 

To  earthly  pomp  or  wealth  or  lust,  they  scorn 

Their  simple,  holy  cell 

(Where  Angels  fain  might  dwell) 

To  join  Earth's  strife  and  win  a  heart  forlorn  ! 


®entj)  5^ unban  after  ([^rinitji 


TIfE    WO   OF  HAL  A  AM. 


Not  for  all  the  breath  of  incense  burning, 

Not  for  all  the  life  of  victims  slain, 
Not  for  every  altar  whence  returning 

Still  thou  hop'st  some  vantage-ground  to  gain 
Not  for  these  or  more, 
Does  His  mercies'  store 
Fail  those  who  Ilis  chosen  Race  remain ! 

While  the  flame  in  Zophim  leaps  the  highest, 

Come  no  answering  flashes  from  above ; 

O'er  enchantments  vainly  sped,  thou  sighcst 

In  the  verge  of  Peor's  haunted  grove ; 

—  Misrhtier  fiir  than  au<]:ht 

Weird  familiars  brought, 

—  Stronger  than  all  elfin -spells,  God's  love ! 

So,  tliinc  eyes,  untranccd  mid  arts  unholy, 

3Iaik  ilu'  Star  of  Jac()]>'s  destiny 

vri 


The    Wo  (,f  Balaam.  123 

Gilding  Judah's  sceptre,  till  it  slowly 
Pales  at  its  twin-sister  of  the  sky  ; 
Whose  pure,  orient  gleam 
Glows  with  Shiloh's  beam. 
Whose  sphere  holds  the  Righteous  when  they  die !  ^ 

So,  thy  lips,  with  more  touched  than  thou  knewest, 

Wider  than  Canaan's  fate  reveal; 
And  thy  words,  not  so  meant,  but  yet  truest 
Verdict  for  the  race  of  Adam,  seal; 
Breathing,  high  and  low. 
Tones  of  joy  and  wo. 
Veiling  what  years  yet  unborn  conceal. 

Sad  thy  mission,  Son  of  Beor,  favored 

With  a  more  than  mortal  sight  and  word ! 
Sadder  that,  when  thus  sent,  thou  hast  wavered 
O'er  thy  pagan  rites,  to  meet  the  Lord  ! 
Saddest  that,  when  met. 
Wilful  counsel  yet. 
Lucre-led,  thy  false  heart  could  afford! 

Do  I  judge  thee,  Prophet  deeply  erring  ? 

Dare  I  strike  a  note,  than  Grief's  more  stern? 


124  Truth   Siuidm/  afttr  Triui'fi/. 

—  Nay !  more  gracious  baptism  than  thine,  wearing 
Let  me  nither  mine  own  lesson  learn : 

(Doleful  yet  true  chime 

For  all  Christian  time) 
Balaam's  sin  shall  wo  like  Balaam's  earn ! 


"^  It  wna  a  patiisitical  idea  which  a  poet  may  be  excused  fur  tolerating, 
that  the  Star  oi  the  Magi  (the  veritable  Star  of  Jacob  that  IJalaaiii  saw) 
was  the  abode  of  the  disembodied  spiiits  of  the  Righteou.>,  \\ho  shall  be 
heieafter  recalled  from  such  planetary  limbo. 


(^Itbciitj)  .iiuibuji  ufttr  Crinitn. 


THE  PUBLICAN'S  PRAYER. 


0 !  Merciful,  within  Thy  temple  kneeling, 

Let  me  not  bring  my  heart's  vain  treasures  there ; 
Nor  as  I  bend,  one  taint  of  earthly  feeling 

Enter  to  desecrate  Thine  House  of  prayer ; 
But,  as  I  hear  Thy  word  Thy  will  revealing, 

Let  me  be  bowed  as  where  Thyself  hast  trod ; 
I  look  to  Thee,  each  wound,  each  sorrow  healing,  — 

I  pray  to  Thee  ;  Be  merciful,  0  God  ! 

I  know  that  many  watch  their  chains  upon  me. 

Sinful  and  strong,  ev'n  in  Thy  courts  to  fling ; 
I  know  how  often  from  those  courts  have  won  me 

Some  wandering  tone,  some  moth  with  painted  wing ; 
I  miss  the  sparkles  of  Thy  baptism  on  me, 

Exhaled  or  stained  in  all  its  holy  flood ; 
Each  day,  all  holier  thoughts  and  spirits  shun  me ; 

—  I  can  but  pray :  Bo  merciful,  0  God  I 

125 


126  EIcvcuIIl  Sunday  after  Trinity. 

For  all,  with  trembling  steps,  as  Time  is  stealing, 

Still  would  I  hasten  to  Thine  House  of  prayer, 
That,  as  I  bend  myself,  no  sin  concealing, 

Soul,  body,  spirit,  all  be  prostrate  there ; 
And,  as  I  hear  Thy  word  Thy  will  revealing, 

Let  me  bow  down  as  where  Thyself  hast  trod ; 
I  look  to  Thee,  each  wound,  each  sorrow  healing ; 

I  pray  to  Thee  :  Be  merciful,  0  God  ! 


Ciutlftfj  Sunb;i]r  afttr  Crinitg. 


LETTER  AND  SPIRIT. 


Long  years,  0  Mother,  since  the  Elect  ones 
First  decked  thee  with  their  many-colored  pall; 

And,  in  the  Wilderness,  thy  wandering  sons 
Vowed  by  thy  graven  law  to  stand  or  fall 

—  To  follow  cheerfully  at  their  Redeemer's  call ! 

They  saw  thee  glowing  in  thy  youthful  prime, 
Ere  yet  a  tear  was  shed  o'er  children  lost ; 

And  fervid,  as  became  their  Eastern  clime, 
The  worship  from  embattled  Israel's  host, 

Ere  yet  their  tents  were  pitched  on  green  Canaan's  coast. 

Yet  so  it  lasted  not ;  efe  long  out-broke, 
As  once  at  Massah,  proud  and  selfish  wills 

That  murmured  even  when  their  Maker  spoke ; 
—  Alas,  to  find  out  soon,  by  sharpest  ills, 

Though  merciful  the  Law,  that  yet  its  letter  kills ! 

12Y 


128  Tuel/th  JSimchnj  after  Trinity. 

So  do  we  find  it  .still,  now  earlier  rites 
Melt  in  a  form  as  glorious,  more  serene ; 

When  a  Veiled  Prophet  now  no  more  invites 
His  shuddering  Tribes  to  gaze  on  Sinai's  sheen, 

Or  frail  High-priest  need  stand,  Man  and  his  God  between. 

If  changed  the  Law,  the  Giver  is  the  same ; 

Like  is  the  fruit  when  green  again  the  tree ; 
Still  burn  our  hearts,  in  Israel's  rebel  flame, 

—  Seeking  at  the  right  hand  of  power  to  be, 
Meting  by  hours  on  Earth,  lots  in  Eternity ! 

0,  Heart  of  mine,  that  sadly  lingers  where 
The  gloomy  plain  with  spectral  shades  is  rife, 

And  all  good  deeds  shapes  foul,  repulsive,  wear  — 
Take  courage  still  amid  tli'  appalling  strife : 

—  Howe'er  the  Letter  kills,  the  Spirit  can  give  Life! 


©fjirttciitlj  Suubitir  ;iftcr  Crinitir 


THE  MOURNING   OVER  JERUSALEM. 


Know'st  thou  that  Voice  whose  tender  tone 
Calls  souls,  God  wants  to  make  His  own, 
And,  mid  Man's  fierce  or  careless  slight. 
Breathes  sweetly  like  some  breeze  at  night 
That  scatters  perfume  where  it  sweeps 
And  whispers  calmness  as  it  sleeps  ? 

"  Jerusalem,  Jerusalem, 
Who  kill'st  thy  prophets  —  stonest  them 
That  come  to  teach  thee !  Ah,  how  oft 
Would  I,  than  parent-bird  more  soft. 
Have  drawn  thy  children  near  and  got 
Food  for  their  need  ;  but  thou  wouldst  not  I" 

So  fell  the  strain,  one  weary  day. 

The  Saviour  stopped  Him  on  His  way. 

To  mark  and  wither  with  His  word 
129 


130  Thirteenth  Sunday  after  Trinity. 

Til'  unreadiest  to  know  their  Lord  : 

—  A  pitying  close,  to  warn  and  win 
A 11^  but  til'  unpardonable  sin ! 

'Twas  morning,  as  His  footsteps  fell 
On  Kedron's  prophet-storied  dell ; 
The  dusky  olive  greener  glowed, 
The  yellow  fig  more  golden  showed, 
And  lowliest  flowers  all  jewelled  grew. 
For  giving  back  fresh  Day-light's  hue  I 

All  Nature  sang ;  but,  to  His  ear 
Who  made  all,  not  so  true  or  clear 
Did  that  unvoiced  World-music  seem  ; 
For,  ever  since  Earth's  Eden-dream, 
Our  Nature-worship  needs  ally 

—  Man's  Love  —  to  make  it  harmony  ! 

With  that,  might  Nature,  glad,  once  more 
Renew  the  type  that  Eden  wore ; 

—  No  fitful  seasons'  varying  sway ; 
No  creeping  Age's  slow  decay ; 
Nor  faculties,  with  toil  grown  weak. 
That  rest,  to  bloom  again,  must  seek ; 


The  Mourning  over  Jerusalem  VM 

But  all  at  once,  leaf,  flower  and  fruit ; 
No  more  the  fig-tree,  conscious,  mute, 
Need  tremble  as  its  Lord  comes  by 
Or,  for  Man's  learning,  fade  and  die ; 
But  flesh  and  grass,  in  boundless  range, 
From  bright  to  brighter  glory  change ! 

Would  we  the  lesson  rightly  read, 

It  tells  us  of  the  earnest  heed 

Our  daily  barrenness  demands. 

And  of  the  sentence  sharp  that  stands 

To  be  revealed  on  some  sad  Day 

When  Christ  shall  pass  along  our  way  ! 

Nor  less  the  import  of  the  woes, 
If  mvsteried,  the  words  disclose 
Against  those  souls  whose  worldly  art 
But  compasses  a  worldly  part ; 
Whose  discord  with  God's  love  supplies, 
No  note  in  Nature's  harmonies. 

Ah  !  hopeless  every  Heaven- ward  aim. 
Did  not  a  gracious  Voice  proclaim 
The  marvel  of  God's  suffering  — 


132  ThiHeenth  Sunday  after  Trivif)/. 

How  Faith  and  Love  again  may  string 
Our  broken  harp  till,  true  and  well, 
A  perfect  diapason  swell ! 

List,  then,  and  learn  that  tender  tone 
Assuring  us  God  seeks  His  own  : 
He,  who  could  weep  o'er  Judah's  race, 
To  humbler  hearts  no  scanty  grace 
Will  scatter  from  His  sparkling  wing, 
Safe  underneath,  those  hearts  to  bring ! 


Jfaurtuntlj  ^unhjj  after  Crinitg 


THE  ANTE-CHAMBER. 


If,  from  that  deep,  unknown  abyss 
Whose  bosom  holds  both  wo  and  bliss, 

Again  those  souls  looked  forth,  once  prisoned  here ; 
How  would  one  glance,  could  Man  but  bear 
TJicir  gaze,  who  know  all,  seem  to  wear 

A  teaching,  true  and  sad,  of  danger  near. 

Unready  and  unwise,  they  say, 

If  careless,  as  Day  glides  by  Day, 
We  slumber  till  the  awful  Bridegroom  come  : 

Ungrateful,  if  the  thought  arise 

To  weigh  each  little  sacrifice 
And  with  one  talent  buy  our  long,  long  home ! 

Alas  !  in  that  dark  list  of  crime 

First  entered  when,  in  Earth's  green  prime, 

Man  thanked,  but  with  a  brother's  blood,  his  God  — 
133 


134  Fourteenth  Sunday  after  Trinity. 

Not  only  sleep  or  buried  gifts 
("Whose  wliited  cerements,  cold  Death  lifts) 
Invoke  on  us  the  stern  Avenger's  rod ! 

Nine  times,  the  Son  of  God,  in  vain, 

Removed  the  kneeling  leper's  stain, 
(Healed,  had  there  breathed  one  grateful  feeling  there ;) 

While  erst,  amid  the  Chosen  race, 

Their  Saviour's  glory,  face  to  face, 
Was  dimmed  before  their  idol-song  and  prayer ! 

Nor  strange,  when  blessings,  thrice  declared, 

No  softer  made  the  hearts  that  dared 
To  murmur  at  the  meat  their  Maker  gave  ;  — 

When  not  the  dying  odors,  shed 

Around  the  Prophet's  unbent  head, 
(^uld  scent  the  flowing  of  Meribah's  wave ! 

0  God  !  not  a  sad  Spirit's  look. 

Nor  vision,  nor  unsealed  Book 
Warmed  by  prophetic  search  until  made  plain, 

Need  we,  to  see  the  wo  and  want. 

The  duty  and  the  fear  that  haunt 
This  solemn  vestibule  of  endless  gain  ! 


The  Ante-chamber.  135 

Happy,  if  as  we  wait  Thee  here, 

Each  poor  man's  sigh,  each  mourner's  tear 

Awake  in  us  Thy  heaven-taught  sympathy : 
But  happier  if,  all  watch ings  past, 
(When  gathered  near  Thy  throne  at  last) 

We  find  th^ir  grateful  debt  o'erpaid  by  Thee ! 


J^iftuntj)  |>iiiib;ijj  after  (Lrinitjj 


THE  COVENANT-HTONE. 


Thou  art  the  same,  —  Who  watched  of  uld 
Thy  peaceful  Race  draw  nigh ; 

When  lance's  point  and  banner-fold 
Gleamed  idly  to  the  sky ; 

When,  gathered  round  the  hallowed  Stone, 

—  Their  Leader's  solemn  warnings  done  — 
Their  oft  repeated  pledges  own 

Love  that  would  never  die ! 

Thou  art  the  same,  —  now  other  rites 
New  vows,  new  service,  bring ; 

Now  that  Thy  chosen  Israel  fights 
Against  no  earthly  king, 

Thou  still  rewardest,  as  of  old. 

Thy  warrior  servants'  bearing  bold 

—  Their  hearts  to  Idol-worship  cold 

But  warm,  by  Tliine  to  cling! 


The  Covenant-Stone.  137 

Thine  P]yc  yet  sees  the  Covenant-stone 

(Fresh  planted  by  Thy  hand) 
A  witness  of  the  Faith  we  own, 

Elect  and  living,  stand : 
^Vo  worth  the  day,  the  Church  forgets 
The  sign  which  of  her  truth  it  sets 
Or,  blind  and  frail,  in  friendship  meets 

"Where  stranger-types  command  I 

Thou  claimest  allegiance,  yet,  as  true, 

Devotion  more  entire ; 
And  dost  our  way  with  symbols  strew 

That  faith  and  love  inspire ; 
—  Green  fields  all  waving  from  few  seed. 
The  spicy  tree's  refreshing  shade. 
The  cheerful  birds  whom  Thou  dost  feed, 

All  lead  our  prospects  higher ! 

Lord,  —  Who  can  blend,  as  erst  so  now, 

Blessings  and  mournful  ill,  — 
Aid  us  to  keep  the  faith  we  vow, 

Help  us  our  vows  to  fill ! 
When  Mammon  tempts  us  to  his  sway 
O,  let  it  not  our  trust  betray ; 


138  Fifteenth  Sunday  after  Trinity. 

And,  if  storms  vex  our  closing  day, 
Do  Thou  the  Ocean  still ! 

And  when,  a  Gentile  Church,  at  last 

We  crowd  Thy  shrine  on  high ; 

—  Our  well-tried  weapons'  uses  past, 

Or  gleaming  idly  by, 
A  new  Canaan  all  our  own. 
Our  Leader's  glorious  promise  won,  — 
Let  us  but  hear  His  blissful  tone : 
"  For  Love  that  ne'er  can  die  !" 


iduntlj  SHitbiin  after  Crinitg 


THE  JUDGE  BEHIND    THE  DOOR. 


0,  Lesson  wisely  to  all  hearts  addressed ! 
Well  may  we  keep  it  folded  to  our  breast 
Till  all  its  power  we  catch, 

—  The  meanings  deep  that  in  its  few  words  live, 
(No  more,  the  Saviour  saw  it  fit  to  give) 

"  I  say  to  each  one :  Watch  !" 

Is  it  not  little  that  the  Master  asks  ? 

—  No  unpaid  toil,  no  arbitrary  tasks, 

No  penance  for  our  Fall ; 
But  simply  that  with  ears,  Love  open  keeps, 
With  eye  that,  e'en  if  closed,  expectant  sleeps, 

We  wait  His  promised  call ! 

Say,  had  He  bid  us  ever  on  our  feet 
To  stand,  like  trembling  pris'ners,  soon  to  meet 
Th'  Avenger  of  our  sin ; 

139 


140  Sixteenth  Sunday  after  Trinity. 

Could  we  have  murmured,  —  wc  who,  every  day, 
Teach  one  another  more  to  drive  astray 
The  souls  lie  wants  to  win  ? 

We  can  be  wakeful  in  our  least  concerns : 

—  See,  if,  by  chance,  some  shepherd-fire  o'erburns, 

How  many  eyes  to  gaze ! 
Or  if  we  seek  some  petty  Earth-lord's  smile, 
How  cheerfully,  though  sick  at  heart  the  while, 

His  caprice  claims  our  days ! 

Or  if,  with  aims  less  selfish  and  less  low, 
We  long  one  line  of  Nature's  laws  to  know, 

How  wait  we  for  dim  light ; 
While  yonder,  wandering  through  some  Pleiad-dance, 
A  prouder  soul  grows,  in  his  star-fed  trance, 

Companion  to  the  Night ! 

0,  say  not,  then,  our  Maker  overtasks 

The  strength  He  gave,  when  it  all-nerved  He  asks, 

—  Not  for  some  winged  wealth  ; 
Not,  hour  })y  hour,  to  watcli  a  bud  expand  : 
Not,  ever  sea-rocked,  still  to  sail  round  land ; 

Not,  for  our  neiglibor's  health, 


The  Judge  behind  the  Door.  141 

To  search  mid  poisons  for  new  life-defence 
Or,  year  by  year,  to  track  the  pestilence ; 

To  dare  electric  fire  ; 
Or,  while  the  sight  grows  dim,  spite  optic  art, 
To  count  through  weary  nights,  with  wearier  heart 

How  other  Worlds  expire  :  — 

But,  with  philosophy  most  calm  and  true, 
To  seek  our  highest  gain  in  what  we  do ; 

To  nurse  our  own  heart-flowers ; 
From  every  passion-tempest,  learn  the  more 
To  steer  our  life-bark  to  a  stormless  shore ; 

To  test  the  healing  powers 

Of  medicines  no  human  hand  compounds 
(God's  ordinances  curing  all  soul-wounds ;) 

And,  —  since  ere  long  the  Veil 
Will  surely  fall,  to  shut  out  from  our  sight 
Earth-scenes  —  to  read  in  every  watching  night 

That  Star  which  does  not  fail ! 

O,  warned  in  time,  let  not  your  lamps  grow  dim ; 
Though  ye  believe  not,  yet  ye  wait  on  Him, 
The  Judge  behind  the  Door : 


14*2  Sixteenth  Sunday  after  Trinity. 

lie,  if  He  hide  it  from  His  Angels'  ken, 
Reveals  each  instant  to  some  Child  of  men 
His  Coming's  awful  hour ! 

And  we,  the.  early  called  in  Childhood's  faith, 
Or,  more  mature,  along  the  Church's  path 

Led,  by  her  teaching  true, 
To  learn  a  lesson  from  the  falling  leaf, 
From  all  life-tokens  ev'n  more  frail  and  brief, 

—  Lord,  what  shall  these  men  do  ?  — 

Help  us  to  stand  like  such  as  wait  for  Thee ; 
Forever  longing  in  Thy  train  to  be ; 

As  for  some  Bridal,  dressed ; 
And  reckoning,  by  the  alternate  light  and  gloom 
That,  sent  by  Thee,  plays  o'er  our  World  and  home 

And  heart,  our  hour  of  rest ; 

Till  the  glad  moment  comes  that,  ushered  in 
By  Death,  th'  obedient  Servants'  meed  we  win 

And  the  best  import  catch 
(Last,  understood  by  souls  in  bliss  alone,) 
Of  Thy  deep  warning  words,  now  fully  known, 

"  Blessed  are  those  that  watch  !" 


St()rntccn{|j  ^uniiiiu  after  Criiutg 


THE  PASSPORT. 


Straight  is  the  gate  and  narrow  is  the  way 

To  Life,  that  leadeth  I 
Dark-robed  and  stern,  to  quench  our  short-lived  Day 

The  drear  Night  speedeth  ! 
To  that  dim  strife  and  sore,  0  !  who  shall  say 

What  gloom  sueceedeth, 
And  what  strong,  gentle  Hand  to  be  our  stay, 

Our  spirit  needeth  ? 

"When  Morn  is  young,  it,  'twixt  dew-gem  and  flower, 

Our  gaze  divideth ; 
More  late,  Earth's  glare  or  dust,  her  wind  or  shower 

Heaven's  dim  path  hideth  ; 
Old-age  hath  passed  it,  or  with  failing  power 

Helpless  abideth ;  — 
Lord,  how  a  turning  leaf,  a  shade,  an  hour 

Our  lot  deeideth  ! 

143 


144  Seventeenth  JSund^i/  offer  Trinifji 

Full  many  seek  in  vain  to  enter  in 

Thy  Gate-way  lowly,  — 
Seek ;  but  not  strive,  therefore  they  fail  to  win 

Their  guerdon  wholly. 
'Tis  not  enough  (though  good-will  to  begin 

Is  Thy  gift  solely) 
We  hear  Thy  teaching  or  leave  off  some  sin. 

To  make  us  holy : 

We  have  not  won  the  way,  though  we  may  prove 

Thy  baptism  given ; 
Nor,  though  the  pledges  of  Thy  dying  love 

We  taste  here,  even ; 
But  more  than  these  —  0,  keep  Thou,  Holiest  Dove, 

Souls  that  have  striven 
As  Thou  command'st,  and  guide  them  from  above 

To  enter  Heaven ! 


^ig^teentlj  ^unb;i}|  after  Crinitu 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON. 


Once,  when  Summer's  light  was  low 

In  the  distant  West ; 
And  purple  Twilight,  creeping  slow, 
Stole,  tint  by  tint,  the  Evening's  glow ; 
Where  rich  clustering  vines  did  grow, 

I  laid  me  down  to  rest. 

And  then  slumber,  unperceived, 

O'er  me  listless,  fell ; 
I  saw  no  more  where  vines,  thick-leaved, 
Sweet  glimpses  of  the  light  received, 
Or  where  branches  interweaved 

Quaint  syllables,  to  spell. 


But  my  sense,  a  new  clime  woo'd 

With  strange  scenery ; 
—  Far  off,  there  gleamed  Tiberias'  flood, 


14G  Eighteenth  Sunday  after  Trinity. 

While,  darkly  shading  where  I  stood, 
Hermon  rose,  all  crowned  with  wood, 
Against  the  Eastern  sky. 

Yet  the  look  of  gleam  and  shade, 

Lake  and  storied  dell, 
(With  child-lore,  half-familiar  made) 
Charmed  not  my  gaze  from  one  weird  glade 
Where  the  very  birds,  afraid, 

Spared  their  song-dreams  to  tell ! 

Soon  I  knew  why  silent  there, 
When  I  looked  more  nigh ; 

A  Man^  —  true  image  of  despair  — 

Had  made  within  his  hopeless  lair. 

Till  the  heavy,  stagnant  air 

Had  sickened  with  his  sigh ! 

There  he  writhed  —  no  tear,  no  cry  — 

For  a  weary  space ; 
When,  sharp  athwart  the  brilliant  sky, 
The  shadow  of  a  Dove  went  by 
And,  a  moment,  seemed  to  lie 

On  his  pallid  face. 


Tlie  Prodigal  Son.  147 

1  know  not  what  slumbering  chord 

Of  his  soul,  it  woke 
Or  what  long-buried  memories,  stored 
Within  his  brain,  like  fire  were  poured ; 
But  with  firm,  reflected  word 

And  gentle  tears,  he  spoke : 

"  Better  those  who  humbly  earn 

Bread  at  home,  than  I ; 
Repentant,  there  I  will  return. 
Not  son-like,  but  to  service  stern ; 
Father !  pardon  now,  nor  spurn 

Slow-learning  misery !'" 

As  he  said  this,  one  might  see 

Nature  understood ; 
And  breaking  forth  in  sympathy, 
(As  longing  all  the  time,  to  be 
In  accord)  sweet  minstrelsy 

Rang  through  the  enchanted  wood. 

Sweeter,  every  swelling  tone 

For  the  hush  before ; 
More  brilliant,  all  the  rich  tints  thrown 


148  Eifjfhteenth  Sunday  after  Trinity. 

Upon  the  landscape,  till  it  shoue 
Too  intense  to  gaze  upon  ; 

—  T  slumbered  then  no  more. 

And  the  vine-leaves  hanging  low, 

As  at  first,  I  found ; 
But  mellow  Eve's  retreating  glow 
Was  lost  in  dusky  Twilight  now, 
Where  quaint  shadows  come  and  go 

Half  guest-,  half  ghost-like,  round. 

And  a  low,  clear  whisper  came 

(Through  my  bones  it  ran) 
As  if  a  Spirit  called  my  name : 
"  Poor  Sleeper !  'twas  not  all  a  dream 
—  That  sad  glade,  that  wan  One's  shame ; 
My  Son  !  Thou  art  the  Man  !" 


^intttnitl)  ^luiliiig  afttr  Crinitg. 


THE  DEDICAIWN. 


"And  will  the  Lord  indeed 
Dwell  on  the  earth,  He  made  ?  — 

He  Who,  for  fitting  Court,  would  need 
The  Heaven  of  Heavens  where  Angels  heed 
His  glance,  will  He  endure  this  human  Temple's  shade  T* 

So  breathed  the  strain  one  day 
From  Mankind's  Wisest  son  ; 

While  kneeling  millions  round  him  lay 
Before  a  shrine,  so  rich,  to  pray. 
That  human  Art  well  nigh  a  rank  Divine,  had  won ! 

Not  in  distrust  or  scorn, 
So  doubtful  rose  his  prayer ; 

No  ghostly  fear  or  pride  forlorn, 

But  a  humility  inborn, 

With  pearls  of  Wisdom  set,  decks  his  devotion  rare. 

149 


150  NineteeiUh  Sunday  after  Trinity. 

But  now,  iu  later  days 
Of  hopeless,  heartless  gleam, 

Men,  lost  in  philosophic  maze, 
—  Too  learned  to  love,  too  proud  to  praise, 
Too  free  for  faith  —  of  gifts  without  a  Giver,  dream  ! 

While  some,  less  bold  than  these, 
A  God  above  them  own ; 

But  in  cold  Reason's  chamber  freeze 
And  worshipping  (not  on  their  knees 
But  in  the  spirit,)  set  Self  on  an  Idol-throne ! 

Guard  us  from  such  extremes. 
Lord  of  all  Truth  and  Grace ; 

Alike,  from  superstitious  dreams, 
And  from  wild,  pantheistic  schemes 
And  from  their  creed,  who  put  Man's  feelings  in  Thy  place ! 

Teach  us,  all  glad,  to  pay 
The  blushing  Vineyard's  due ; 

At  Caesar's  feet,  his  own  to  lay ; 
And,  on  the  World's  thick-crowded  way, 
To  learn  their  lineaments,  who  bear  Thy  tokens  true ! 


The  Dedication.  151 

So,  though  no  outward  shrine, 
With  Israel's  king,  we  build, 

A  pledge  and  share  of  Life  divine 
In  pure,  obedient  hearts  shall  shine, 
Till,  like  that  olden  House,  those  hearts  with  Thee  be  filled  ! 

And  if  it  be,  at  first, 
A  Cloud  that  hides  from  Thee ; 

A  little  while  —  it  is  dispersed. 
And  o'er  the  heedful  soul  will  burst. 
The  Day-star's  promised  beam,  to  bid  the  darkness  flee. 

Then  may  we  say,  indeed, 
(More  wise,  more  humble  made,) 

"  He  Who,  for  fitting  Court,  does  need 

The  Heaven  of  Heavens  where  Angels  heed 

His  glance,  can  yet  endure  poor,  human  Temples'  shade !" 


Cii}tiititt|)  SiuiJjag  after  S^rinitg 


THE  PRAYER   OF  ELIAS. 


Whose  is  the  breath,  so  sweet,  so  pure, 

That  will  not  soil  Thy  shrine  ? 
Whose  suppliant  hands,  canst  Thou  endure 

To  see  before  Thee  twine  ? 
Whose  is  the  faith,  so  calm,  so  sure. 

To  ask  for  aught  of  Thine  ? 

—  Alas,  our  stains  are  wide  and  deep ; 
Within,  foul  Memories  their  dreary  vigil  keep ! 

The  snow-drops  bright,  all  trustful,  peep 

Up  mid  the  sheer  ice-field ; 
The  juicy  vines,  untrelliced,  creep 

And  folded  tendrils  shield  ; 
The  violets  on  yon  mossy  steep 

Delicious  odor  yield ; 

But  not  ev'n  fragrant  violet 

Nor  clasping  vine  nor  fearless  snow-drop  are  we  yet ! 

152 


The  Prayer  of  Elias.  ^^"^ 

And  these  have  not,  like  us,  to  bring 

Crushed  hopes  and  languid  cares 
To  Thee,  or  chords  unnerved  to  string 

Afresh  with  voiceless  prayers ; 
Their  duteous,  life-long  offering 

But  praise  for  burden  bears ; 

While  ice,  as  thankless  still  as  poor. 
Each  moment  feel  thy  help  —  each  moment  need  it  more  ! 

If,  in  the  glowing  page  we  read 

The  tale  of  Prophet's  power ; 
To  whom,  the  obedient  clouds  gave  heed, 

Three  years  forbid  to  shower ; 
And  who  the  parted  soul  could  lead 

Back,  after  Death's  worst  hour ; 

—  Slight  claim  to  prophet-grace  have  we 
His  children,  who  once  thought  to  hide  himself  from  Thee ! 

Yet  from  that  storied  page  we  learn 

A  lesson  true  and  high  ; 
If  gifts  so  large,  our  Race  could  earn, 

When  all  was  shadowy, 
How  freer,  brighter  for,  they  turn 

Since  His  humanity, 


154  Ticentieth  ISuncuiy  after  Trinity. 

Who  each  faint  sigh  in  Heaven  presents 
As  kindest  Sou  of  Man  and,  Son  of  God,  then  grants ! 

For,  ever  since  the  chosen  Few 

Watched  once  His  cloud-borne  way, 

The  drops  they  caught,  of  falling  dew 
In  fonts  baptismal  stay ; 

And  virtues,  recked  not  of,  imbue 
With  a  mysterious  sway 
The  simple  food  He  blest  and  brake 
That  elements  of  Earth  might  thence  Heaven's  own  hue  take! 

Thus  cleansed,  thus  fed,  we  need  not  hide 

In  hopelessness,  our  sin ; 
But  follow  where  the  Crucified 

Leads  His  regenerate  kin  ; 
And,  though  our  prayers  may  not  betide 

The  prophet's  meed  to  win, 

Dews  yet  more  gracious  heed  our  word 
And  Bouls,  once  dead  in  sins,  are  to  new  Life  restored. 

Thus  called,  thus  blest,  our  breath  grown  pure 
Fears  not  to  soil  Thy  shrine ; 


The  Prayer  of  Elias.  155 

Our  suppliant  hands  are  clasped  secure 

Where'er  Thine  altars  shine ; 
And  kindling  faith,  serene  and  sure, 

Makes  us  all  but  divine; 

—  Without,  Christ's  footfall  stills  the  Deep, 
Within,  we  wait  for  Him  and  pleasant  vigils  keep ! 


S^iutnts-first  Sunban  after  ©rinitii 


THE  HI  VERS  OF  DAMASCUS. 


He  stood  beside  the  door 
Of  the  lone  house  and  poor, 

(Wherein  the  Prophet  chanced  awhile  to  dwell) 
In  Eastern  vizier-pomp, 
With  chariot  and  clear  trump, 

The  praise  of  Israel's  healing  God  to  swell ! 

But  forth,  no  wizard  came, 

Pale-cheeked,  with  eye  of  flame ; 
No  form,  evoked  by  magic  art,  was  seen ; 

A  daily  servitor 

The  simple  message  bore  : 
**  Go,  seven  times  wash  in  Jordan  and  be  clean  '/ 

How  often,  since  that  day. 

The  world  hath  seen  the  sway 

Of  pride,  the  same  that  fired  the  Syrian's  breast 
156 


The  Rivers  of  Damascus.  157 

Ev'n  now,  we  sinners  turn 
Away  and  God's  plan  spurn, 
K  not  just  what  Man  dares  to  deem  the  best. 

And,  though  in  other  words, 

Our  verdict  still  accords 
With  the  rude  soldier's  self-deceiving  zeal ; 

Some  vague  and  sensuous  dream, 

Some  dear  Abana's  stream, 
We  hold  more  worth  than  Gospel-grace,  to  heal ! 

Lord  of  all  Form  and  Power ! 

Why  dim,  unto  this  hour, 
Are  all  Thy  lines,  marked  in  both  works  and  word  ? 

Why  does  our  Faith  so  late 

For  signs  and  wonders  wait. 
As  if  calm  order  less  showed  forth  the  Lord  V 

Why  a.sk  wc  that  it  be 

A  sudden  leprosy 
To  mark,  Gehazi-like,  the  selfish  sin  ? 

Or  that,  before  our  eyes. 

Stern  Azrael  arise 
To  smite,  as  erst,  th'  Assyrian  canjp  within  ? 


158  Twenty-first  Sunday  after  Trinity. 

Needs  it  a  visible  Doyc, 
Font-hovering,  to  prove 

The  virtue  rare  of  the  Baptismal  wave  ? 
Or  must  we,  sceptic,  wait 
Until  the  Judgment-seat, 

To  see  Thy  Body  raise  ours  from  the  grave  'i 

Thou  canst  shed  o'er  a  sign 
The  simplest,  power  Divine 

To  work  the  wonders  of  Thy  Love  or  Wrath ; 
Be  ours  such  signs  to  learn 
Nor,  with  Naaraan,  spurn 

The  easy  rites  that  mark  Salvation's  path  ! 


CIlDrntn-scconb  ^unbaii  after  G^rinitn. 


THE  ETERNITY  OF   THE  GOSPEL. 


Who  hath  not  felt  the  bliss  of  new-born  Day 

Along  its  glowing  way ; 
And,  drinking  of  its  countless,  airy  wells, 

Owned  their  enchanting  spells ; 
Nor  thought  how  each  fresh-rising,  fragrant  Morn 

Hastes  to  that  long-pledged  bourne 
Where  neither  Sun's  bright  beam,  nor  Star's  calm  ray. 
But  Light  more  heavenly  still,  shines  endless  on  the  way  ? 

EVn  so,  each  period  in  the  Church's  life 

(Though  waking  to  new  strife) 
Marks  the  sure  progress  of  the  Eternal  Will 

That  weaves,  unhindered  still, 

(Whether  amid  a  luscious  landscape's  gleam 

Or  lurid  cloud  and  flame) 
159 


IHO  Twenty-second  Sunday  after    Trinity. 

The  varied  web  that  ever  to  His  Eye 
Lies  all  outspread  at  once,  while  myriad  ages  fly. 

Not  Man's,  to  know  the  pictures  that  it  holds 

In  undeveloped  folds ; 
Save  when,  from  Groo's  own  glance  reflected,  gleams 

Shine  on  some  prophet's  dreams ; 
As,  once,  the  Father  of  the  Faithful  saw 

Christ's  glad  Day  and  new  Law, 
Or  passed  before  the  Babylonish  Seer 
Men's  Empires  o'er  their  kind,  in  living  shapes  of  Fear. 

Now,  since  that  gracious,  purer  Day  hath  risen 

Upon  our  earth-bound  prison. 
Less  needed  (and  so,  quenched)  is  prophet-light ; 

But  not  left  to  the  Night 
Of  dark  forebodings  and  of  duties  dim. 

Unmarked,  unblest  by  Him, 
Are  we;  for,  by  His  manifested  word. 
We  learn  and  treasure  up  the  portents  of  the  Lord  ! 

With  more  of  grace,  to  help  our  ftiint,  frail  aim, 
Than  prescient  seers  could  claim ; 


The  Eternity  of  the  Gospd.  101 

With  more  than  Light,  to  shine  along  our  way, 
—  Ev'n  Endless  Life's  clear  ray ; 

With  holiest  pledge,  that  who  His  will  doth  do 
Shall  know  the  Good  and  True :  — 

We  deeper  pierce,  than  Hebrew  sage,  the  scroll 
And  watch  a  fate  serene,  when  worlds  unlearn  to  roll ! 

The  Merciful,  He  leaves  not  those  alone 

Whom  He  has  made  His  own  ; 
But  as,  once,  lions  in  their  Persian  den 

Became  more  tame  than  men. 
At  His  command ;  and  (be  we  reverent  here) 

As  He  was  ever  near 
The  Son  of  Man  in  more  than  human  straits,  — 
His  presence  still  round  those  who  love  to  please  Him,  waits ! 

Nor  is  the  way  to  please  Him,  dim  or  hard ; 

But  brilliant  with  reward : 
—  The  law  of  love,  that  Cain  once  fiercely  broke 

With  fratricidal  stroke  ; 
Th'  example,  that  but  sinless  ones  alone 

May  cast  at  Guilt  the  stone ; 
The  warning,  lest  our  pardons  count  by  seven ; 
The  threat,  not  to  forgive  is  to  be  not  forgiven ! 


162  Twenty-second  Sunday  after  Trinity. 

Such  is  the  Gospel-law,  the  Saviour  brought 
That,  e'en  ere  Eden-taught, 

Ran,  chainlike,  through  what  is  and  is  to  be 
In  our  World-history ; 

Now,  shedding  o'er  some  scene  celestial  liglit 
Now,  quenched  in  heathen  night ; 

But  serving  always  fitly  as  the  key 
Of  Time's  dim,  solemn  march  on  to  Eternity  I 


t;iDnrtiT-tI|irJ(  Suubag  nftcr  Crinity. 


THE  TREE  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 


In  Eden,  when  the  Earth  was  new, 
Two  trees  not  far  asunder  grew ; 
One  Knowledge  bore,  —  the  other,  Life ; 
As  if,  then,  was  begun  the  strife 
How  heavenly  bliss  might  best  be  won, 
—  Whether  by  intellect  alone 
Or  by  Obedience,  to  prove 
A  fitness  for  those  realms  where  Life  is  fed  on  Love ! 

We  know  too  well  that  Eden-choice ; 

We  hear,  each  day,  too  plain  the  Voice 

That  whispered  lofty  promise  there : 

"  Ye  shall  not  die ;  —  another  sphere, 

More  safe  and  high,  awaits  their  tread 

Who  dare  on  Wisdom's  fruit  to  feed  : 

One  taste  —  one  step  —  and  ye  shall  grow 

As  Gods  yourselves,  like  Him,  both  good  and  ill  to  know !" 

163 


104  Ticeivty -third  Sunday  after  Trinity. 

Since  then,  that  earliest  dream  all  o'er, 
"We,  children,  wander  by  the  shore 
Of  Time's  vast  sea,  and  watch  afar 
The  gleaming  (like  some  distant  star) 
Of  Cherub-swords  that  guard  and  show 
The  Paradise  shut  from  us  now, 
—  Condemned,  how  perilous  to  prove, 
How  sorrowful  their  lot,  who  rather  know  than  love ! 

Nor  is  it  only  Man's  wild  will 
That  thus  is  paid ;  but  Knowledge  still 
Has,  in  its  nature.  Sorrow's  seed. 
Else  wherefore  was  the  Wise  king's  meed. 
With  all  his  search,  but  Vanity  ? 
And  (higher,  apter  instance)  why 
Was  He,  the  all-prescient  One,  the  while 
He  dwelt  with  us  on  Earth,  seen  never  once  to  smile  ? 

Wrapped  in  His  words  the  Truth  doth  lie, 
(Perhaps  made  into  Truth,  thereby) 
*'  If  blind,  ye  should  be  without  sin ;" 
And  thenoe,  as  consequence,  we  win  — 
"  If  sinless,  without  sorrow  too ;" 
For  every  heart  that  Sin  doth  woo 


The  Tree  of  Knowledge.  166 

And  win,  full  soon  to  see,  is  fain. 
Sharp,  unfamiliar  Griefs  ev'n  in  its  bridal-train. 

So,  Light  and  Crime  and  Suffering  stand, 
Three  Mighties,  linked  hand  in  hand 
And  haunting  every  avenue 
That  mortals  tread,  in  various  hue ; 

—  Now,  to  scale  Heaven,  they  tempt  the  mind, 

—  Now,  sense,  with  pleasures  less  refined ; 
But  leading  sure  their  votaries 

To  some  such  steep  as  where  the  baffled  Titan  lies ! 

0,  riddle  hardest  to  be  read ! 
O,  mystery  most  near,  most  dread ! 
—  Undying  souls,  (so  far  divine) 
Encased  in  such  a  mortal  shrine ; 
E'er  struggling  with  transcendant  aims 
While  Earth,  each  hour,  its  tribute  claims ; 
Ev'n  as  they  burn  to  pass  the  skies, 
Polluting,  with  strange  fire,  their  holiest  sacrifice ! 

0  Light,  enough  to  miss  the  way  — 
Knowledge,  that  just  can  lead  astray  — 


166  Ttccntij-third  Siin^aij  offer  Trinity. 

Would  ye  were  either  less  or  more ! 
—  So  speaks  my  heart ;  but  from  the  store 
Of  Scripture,  comes  another  tone : 
"  My  Servant !  leave  such  doubts  alone ; 
Seek  but  to  do  as  I  command, 
In  hope  and  love ;  the  rest  is  safe  within  My  hand !" 

Else,  every  Morn's  returning  light, 
The  Seasons'  many  colored  flight. 
The  wonders  that  our  frame  disclose 
And,  (stranger  still)  the  fire  that  glows 
Within,  —  each  trace  that  God  has  given, 
Our  wandering  minds  to  point  to  Heaven  — 
Mislead  the  souls  they  were  to  guide, 
Till  Nature's  brightest  works  her  Maker  only  hide ! 

'Tis  only,  when  the  humbled  heart. 
With  conscience  soft,  will  do  its  part,  — 
Accepting,  first,  revealed  lore ; 
Then,  if  it  venture  to  explore 
Creation-marvels,  quick  to  find 
Christ's  light  without  which  all  are  blind  — 
That  Man  another  taste  may  claim 
Of  Fruit  which,  Eden-touched,  turned  to  consuming  Flame! 


Ctonitg-fourtlj  Sunbitjj  cifttr  Crinitn 


HYPOSTASIS. 


Two  dew-drops,  run  together ; 
Two  clouds  that,  floating,  blend  in  summer- weather ; 

Two  smoke-wreaths,  upward  driven, 
That  mingle  ere  they  melt  away  tow'rds  Heaven  ; 

Two  voices,  but  one  tone ; 
Two  hearts  —  ah  !  leave  those  hearts  alone, 

Nor  dream  in  human  types  to  see 

The  semblance  of  the  harmony 
That,  (echoing  notes,  0 !  Saviour,  Thine 

In  Thine  abasement's  mystery) 
Breathes,  in  regenerate  Man,  the  Human  and  Divine ! 

Ev'n  those  works  where  God's  finger 
Has  left  its  traces,  not  so  marred,  to  linger; 

Or  where  His  shadow  falling 
Makes  outlines  still,  though  dim,  Himself  recalling; 

—  The  gentle  drops  of  dew, 

The  vapors  melting  out  of  view, 
167 


108  Twenty-fourth  Sunday  after  Trinity. 

The  harmless  air  whose  tones  are  heard 
As  when  by  leaves  in  Eden  stirred,  — 
These  serve  but  faint  half-thoughts  to  bode 
(Unfettered  all  by  rhyme  or  word) 
Of  the  high  union  that  new-forms  us  sons  of  God  ! 

0,  words,  so  strange,  so  awful ! 
Well  might  we  deem  their  utterance  still  unlawful. — 

Fit  but  for  Psalmist's  lyre 
Or  wisest  King  or  loved  Apostle  higher  —  '" 

If  He,  all  Three  Who  taught. 
Had  not,  one  day,  rebuked  such  thought; 

Bidding  the  illy-reverent  Jew 

Confess  the  Scriptures  that  he  knew ; 
And,  to  His  Church  now  still  more  kind. 

Bestowing  an  assurance  true 
On  loving  souls  that,  glad,  room  for  His  Spirit  find. 

But  lest*some  fond  thought,  hidden. 
Should  cheat  our  hopes,  clad  in  a  shape  forbidden ; 

Or  life-long  cherished  error, 
Dissolving  one  day  at  Death's  touch  in  terror. 

Our  sad  mistake  should  prove, — 
Lo,  gleaming  lines  of  tenderest  love 


Ilf/poftfasis .  109 

Betoken  where  that  Spirit  is ; 
And,  by  clear  visible  sympathies, 
"Afford  this  test,  external,  true, 

Of  whence  our  hopes  regenerate  rise : 
Who  loves  God  and  is  loved,  must  love  his  Brother,  too ! 

Thus,  following  Christ's  example, 
We  come  to  share  with  Him,  His  heirdom  ample. 

The  Son  of  God,  most  Holy, 
Became  the  Son  of  Man,  despised  and  lowly ; 

And,  spite  His  thankless  kin, 
Poured  out  His  love  and  life  to  win 

For  us  the  door  of  a  new  fold : 

So,  we,  the  sons  of  men,  enrolled 
Among  His  sacramental  host, 

Though  a  mysterious  grace  untold. 
Grow  to  be  the  sons  of  God  —  gain  more  tlinn  Adam  lost  I 

No  figure  this,  but  real  I 
And,  though  the  curious  heart,  that  longs  to  see  all, 

Misdoubts  our  secret  treasure 
And  deems  that  au^lit  Divine  should  act  at  pleasure. 

(While  we  are  fettered  still,) 
AVe  patiently  our  tasks  fulfil ; 


170  Ticenty-fourth  Sunday  after  Trinity. 

Waiting  until  lie  comes  again, 
Whose  Manhood,  once  bowed  down  with  pain, 
Is  pattern  of  what  ours  shall  be ; 
For  mingling  in  His  rapturous  train 
We  glorious  grow  like  Him,  Whom  as  He  is,  we  see ! 


'0  See  Ps.  Hi.  C.  quoted  in  S.  John  x.  34.  the  Second  Morning  lesson. 
The  two  chapters  of  the  Proverbs  of  Solomon,  taken  as  the  First  Lessons 
for  the  Day,  contain  the  description  of  that  Heayenly  Wisdom  which  is 
tip^uratively  said  to  have  been  with  the  LORD  from  the  beginninjr  as  His 
Delight  and  Daughter,  whom  we  are  bid  to  win.  The  words  of  the  Belov- 
ed Disciple  are  in  John  iii.  IL  the  Second  Evening  U'sson. 


Ctotntg-fiftj)  Suiibitn  after  (bxhii^ 


THE  SOUL-WINNERS. 


If,  wanderiug  on  Life's  beaten  road, 

One  spot,  amid  the  verdant  sod, 
Should  most  attract  our  heart  and  eyes ; 

It  is,  where  Love  from  man  to  man, 

Its  hallowed  pilgrimage  began. 
Where  we  may  offer  our  best  sacrifice ! 

So  truest  still,  and  likest  Him  — 

Who  thought  not  shame  nor  grief  to  climb 

That  awful  Mount  of  gloom  and  woe,  — 
Shall  we  be  ;  if,  in  following  far, 
We  strive  upon  our  hearts  to  bear 

The  Cross  of  loving  every  soul  below. 

Winners  of  souls  —  how  wise!  who  deem'' 
Best  of  that  road  where  mankind  dream 
The  hand  that  scatters,  poorest  still ; 

m 


17'J  Tirciitij-jiftli    SnndtKj  afkr  Til  nit  ij. 

.Vud  who,  if  o'er  the  pathway  be 
Arid  and  thirsty,  faithful  see 
A  budding  tree  of  Life  by  every  rill. 

Therefore  the  needy  ones  they  love. 
As  they  are  loved ;  and  seek  to  prove 

The  promised  power  their  Maker  gave : 
—  Joyful  if,  by  assiduous  prayer 
And  love  and  faith,  they  haply  tear 

Some  long-lost  soul  from  its  stono-covcred  grave ; 

Or  feed,  with  kindly  voice  and  hand, 
Poor  wanderers  in  a  desert  land 

With  bread  and  word  and  softest  care ; 

And,  thoughtful  that  the  tenderest  grace 
Lose  not  by  disregard  its  place^ 

Teach  them  to  gather  up  the  fragments  there. 

They  faint  not  in  their  glad  endeavor 
Of  giving  and  forgiving,  ever ; 

Their  perfect  Love  doth  cast  out  Fear, 

While  through  the  veil  that  thickly  shrouds 
What  shall  be,  amid  glowing  clouds, 

Tliey  see  the  Coming  of  their  Savjouji,  near! 


ClDtntg-sidlj  Suubag  afttr  ©riintg, 


THE  UEAliT  KNOWETH  IT>S  OWN  BlTTERNEiiii. 


The  dimpling  smile  on  Beauty's  cheek, 
The  brow  so  calm  and  fair, 

Pledge  not  within  the  peace  we  seek, 
—  Hide  not  its  secret  there. 

And  so,  amid  some  pageant  high, 
Some  hour  of  glorious  sheen, 

The  form  elate,  the  flashing  eye 
Mask  woful  hearts,  I  ween ! 

No  age,  no  rank,  no  toil,  no  love 

Evades  this  destiny ; 
But  each  created  heart  must  prove 

Its  lonely  malady. 

Tlie  tender  infant  sobs  amid 
The  mother's  soft  caress ; 

And  stalwart  manhood's  face  is  hid 
In  silent  bitterness. 


174  Twcntt/sict/t    Smtdai/  o/icr  Triniiij. 

No  heart  can,  to  another's  grief, 
Vibrate  in  full,  true  tone  — 

No  heart  will  bear  to  win  relief, 
Unveiling  all  its  own  ! 

Nor  does  the  sparkling  flush  of  joy 
Glow  in  reflected  beam ; 

It  wakes  in  each  one's  own  emplo}-. 
Or  lives  in  each  one's  dream. 

We  meet  its  gleam,  in  one  we  love, 
With  constant,  ready  smile  ; 

But  how  so  little  can  so  move. 

Wonder,  perchance,  the  while. 

For  ever  since  the  Fall  that  drove 
Man  out  from  Paradise, 

In  vain  our  sympathetic  love 
To  be  responsive,  tries  ! 

At  best  it  is  but  half  in  tune. 

—  A  weak  and  shattered  Ilarp, 
Athwart  whose  harmonies  are  strewn 

Wild  discords,  harsh  and  sharp. 


The  Heart  knoiocth  its  own  Bitterness.  175 

Lord,  only  Thou  canst  mark  and  feel 

Each  wavering  note,  each  sigh 
And  tones  that,  half-unconscious,  steal 

From  burdened  hearts,  on  high  I 

Happy,  whose  burden  thither  borne 

Grows  light  as  it  ascends  ; 
Till  music  from  all  hearts  forlorn, 

Harmoniously  blends ;  — 

Till  sicknesses  of  Hope  deferred, 

Touched  gently  by  Thee,  close ;  — 

Till  wishes,  that  each  stray  wind  stirred, 
Now  motionless  repose ! 


(Llutiitij-scbrnKj  ^\u\h]\  ;iflcr  Criiutn 


A  LITTLE    WHILE. 


A  little  while ! 
—  Ah,  how  much  haugs  upon  it, 
Of  hasty  joys,  hopes  killed,  and  sudden  strife, 
And  footholds  lost  upon  the  bridge  of  Life, 
And  fruit  found  ashes  just  when  we  had  won  it 
By  force  or  guile ! 

A  little  while,  — 
In  funeral  darkness  lying. 
We,  too,  are  counted  among  things  that  were ; 
Yet  ghosts  of  all  our  actions  haunt  us  there. 
Like  spectral-fires,  at  night-fall  oft  seen  flying 
Round  some  old  pile. 

0,  reconcile 

Our  souls  to  Thee,  Redeemer ! 
So,  in  that  gloomy  hour  we  may  but  find 
The  burdens  of  our  life-time  left  behind, 

And  feel  that  Thou  dost  hold  us,  spite  our  tremor, 

Safe  all  the  while  I 
lid 


Dalttc 


TUE    STRAIN    HAS    CEASED;    AND    MANY    AN    EVE, 
SINCE    IT    WAS    SUNG,    HAS    STOLEN    NIGH 
THE    ELM,    WIIEIIE    FANCIES    CAME    TO    WEAVE 
THEIR   RUDE,    UNLABORED    TAPESTRY  ; 
SO    LONG    AGO,    THAT    EVEN    I 

THE    DREAMER    THERE BUT    HALF-REMEMBER 

EACH    SHADE    ONCE    KNOWN,    AND    LINGERINGLY 
HANG    o'er    it    now,   AS    o'eR    SOME    EMBER 
OP    CHERISHED    FIRES;    OR    START    AT    FINDING 
SOME    TRACE    THAT    FRIGHTENS    IN    REMINDING, 
LIKE    one's    OLD    FOOT-PRINTS    ON    THE    BEACH, 
THE    WASTING    TIDE    HAS    FAILED    TO    REACH. 

0   STEALING    EVE,    0    HAUNTED    TREE, 
WOULD    YE    HAD    BORNE    OR    LESS    OR    MORE    TO    ME  ! 
177 


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